if? 


'•^'■'i'vl,*'''"'  ■  i-  /'•'■'■  ■■■'■'■■- 


y'l'fi".'. 


K'.<A\ 


.•<r3 


.4   ^   A 


jk  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


^,, 


iff\ 


,3^. 


y  \ 


STATE  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 

tiOS  ANCEJUES,  Cal.. 


(d  H^o 


STATE  NOl^MAL  SCHOOL, 


OUTLINES   OP    COSMIC   PHILOSOPHY. 

VOLUME  IL 


OUTLINES  OF  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY 

BASED  ON  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  EVOLUTION, 

WITH  CRITICISMS  ON  THE  POSITIVE 

PHILOSOPHY 


JOHN   FISKE 


L''univers,  pour  gut  saurait  Femhrasser  d'un  sent  point  de  vice,  ne  seratl,  i^il  est  permts 
de  le  dire,  qtCuufait  unique  et  une  grande  virite.  —  D'Alembert 

Kal  tJ»  oKov  tovto  Sia  ravra  k6<t  fjiov  KaXovaiv,  ovk  aKoarfxtay,  —  PLATO 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOLUME   IL 

EIGHTEENTH    EDITION 


i^l^^i 

^Hl 

aS 

r::;;/^^^^^^^ 

^^^3 

M  r§^i.fe^^^W 

BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND  COMPANY 

(€6e  mitaersiitie  ?5cejs^,  (Jambnlrge 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874,  by 

JOHN  FISKE, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


CONTENTS. 

PART  II.   (Continued.) 

SYNTHESIS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PAGE 
NATURAL    SELECTION 3 


CHAPTER  XI. 

TWO    OBJECTIONS    CONSIDERED 32 

CHAPTER  XII. 

ADJUSTMENT,    DIRECT    AND    INDIRECT 50 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

LIFE    AS    ADJUSTMENT 67 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

LIFE    AND    MIND  ' 73 

CHAPTER   XV. 

THE    COMPOSITION    OF    MIND 98 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

PAGE 
THE    EVOLUTION    OF   MIND 133 

CHAPTER   XVn. 

SOCIOLOGY    AND    FREE-WILL 164 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE    EVOLUTION    OF    SOCIETY 191 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

ILLUSTEATIONS    AND    CRITICISMS 225 

CHAPTER  XX. 

CONDITIONS    OF    PROGRESS 255 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

GENESIS    OF    MAN,    INTELLECTUALLY 285 

CHAPTER  XXn. 

GENESIS    OF    MAN,    MORALLY 324 


PART  III. 

« 

COROLLARIES. 
CHAPTER  I. 

THE    QUESTION    RESTATED 367 

CHAPTER   n. 

ANTHROPOMORPHIC    THEISM 381 


CONTENTS.  vii 

CHAPTER  m. 

PAGE 

COSMIC  THEISU 411 

CHAPTER   IV. 

MATTER   AND    SPIRIT 432 

CHAPTER   V. 

RELIGION    AS   ADJUSTMENT 452 

CHAPTER   VL 

THE   CRITICAL   ATTITDDE    OF    PHILOSOPHY 473 


PART  II. 

SYNTHESIS. 
(continued.) 

"  Die  Thatigkeit  des  Organismus  ist  bestimmt  diireh  seine  Receptivitat 
und  umgekehrt.  Weder  seine  Thatigkeit  noeh  seine  Receptivitat  ist  an  sieli 
etwas  reelles,  Realitat  erlangen  beide  niir  in  dieser  Wechselbestimmung. 
Thatigkeit  und  Receptivitat  entstehen  also  zugleicb  in  einem  und  demselben 
untheUbaren  Moment,  und  nur  dieses  Simultaneitat  von  Thatigkeit  und  Re- 
ceptivitat constituirt  das  Leben.  In  den  entgegengesetzten  Richtungen,  die 
durch  diese  Entgegensetzung  entstehen,  liegt  das  Princip  fiir  die  Construc- 
tion aller  Lebenserscheinungen,"  —  Schelljng,  Erster  Entivurf.  1799. 


CHAPTER  X. 


NATURAL    SELECTION. 


In  that  most  deliglitful  of  printed  books,  the  "  Conversations 
of  Goethe  with  Eckermann  and  Soret,"  there  is  an  amusing 
anecdote  which  shows  how  distinctly  the  great  master  real- 
ized the  importance  of  the  question  of  the  origin  of  species. 
The  news  of  the  French  Eevolution  of  July,  1830,  had 
just  reached  Weimar  and  set  the  whole  town  in  commotion. 
In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  says  Soret,  "  I  went  around 
to  Goethe's.  *  Now,'  exclaimed  he  to  me,  as  I  entered,  *  what 
do  you  think  of  this  great  event  ?  The  volcano  has  come  to 
an  eruption ;  everything  is  in  flames,  and  we  have  no  longer 
a  transaction  with  closed  doors ! '  '  Terrible  affair,'  said  I, 
*  but  what  could  be  expected  under  such  outrageous  circum- 
stances, and  with  such  a  ministry,  otherwise  than  that  the 
whole  would  end  with  the  expulsion  of  the  royal  family  ? ' 
My  good  friend,'  gravely  returned  Goethe,  'we  seem  not 
to  understand  each  other.  I  am  not  speaking  of  those 
creatures  there,  but  of  something  quite  different.  I  am 
speaking  of  the  contest,  so  important  for  science,  between 
Cuvier  and  Geoffrey  Saint-Hilaire,  which  has  just  come  to  an 
open  rupture  in  the  French  Academy  ! ' "  At  this  unex- 
pected turn  of  the  subject  poor  Soret  knew  not  what  to  say, 

B  2 


•  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [n,  n. 

and  for  some  minutes,  he  tells  us,  his  thoughts  were  quite  at 
a  standstill. 

The  anecdote  well  illustrates  the  immeasurable  superiority 
of  Goethe  over  Comte  in  prophetic  insight  into  the  bearings 
of  the  chief  scientific  question  of  the  immediate  future. 
While  Comte  was  superciliously  setting  aside  the  problem  of 
man's  origin,  as  a  problem  not  only  insoluble  but  utteily  devoid 
of  philosophic  value  even  if  it  could  be  solved,  the  great 
German  poet  and  philosopher  was  welcoming  the  outbreak 
of  this  famous  contest  on  questions  of  pure  morphology,  as 
conducive  to  the  speedy  triumph  of  the  development  theory, 
for  which  he  himself  had  so  long  been  waging  battle.  But 
events  were  hastening  that  triumph  even  more  rapidly  than 
Goethe  could  have  anticipated.  In  December  1831,  only  a 
few  weeks  before  Goethe  was  laid  in  the  grave,  Mr.  Darwin 
set  out  upon  that  voyage  around  the  world,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  fell  in  with  the  facts  which  suggested  his  theory  of 
the  origin  of  species.  The  history  of  the  investigation  is  a 
memorable  one, — worth  noting  for  the  illustration  it  gives 
of  the  habits  of  a  truly  scientific  mind.  On  his  return  to 
England,  in  1837,  Mr.  Darwin  began  patiently  to  collect  all 
kinds  of  facts  which  might  be  of  use  in  the  solution  of  the 
problem, — "  how  is  organic  evolution  caused  ?  "  It  was  only 
after  seven  years  of  unremitting  labour  that  he  went  so  far 
as  to  commit  to  manuscript  a  brief  sketch  of  his  general 
conclusions,  of  which  the  main  points  were  communicated  to 
his  friends  Sir  Charles  Lyell  and  Dr.  Hooker.  A  less  wise 
and  sober  speculator  than  Mr,  Darwin  would  now  at  once 
have  rushed  into  print.  A  thinker  less  thoroughly  imbued 
with  the  true  scientific  spirit  would  probably  have  suffered 
from  not  publishing  his  views,  and  profiting  by  the  adverse 
criticisms  of  contemporary  observers.  It  is  a  striking  illus- 
tration of  Mr.  Darwin's  patience  and  self-restraint  that  he 
continued  fifteen  years  longer  to  work  assiduously  in  testing 
the  weak  and  strong  points  of  his  theory,  before  presenting 


eH.x.]  NATURAL  SELECTION.  5 

it  to  the  public.  And  it  is  an  equally  interesting  illustration 
of  his  thorougUy  scientific  temperament  that,  after  so  many 
years  of  solitary  labour,  he  should  have  been  so  little  carried 
away  by  the  fascinations  of  his  own  hypothesis  as  to  foresee 
clearly  all  the  more  valid  objections  which  might  be  urged 
against  it.  After  a  careful  perusal  of  the  recent  literature  of 
the  subject,  and  especially  of  the  skilful  work  of  Mr.  St. 
George  Mivart,  it  still  seems  to  me  that  the  weightiest 
objections  which  have  yet  been  brought  to  bear  on  the  Dar- 
winian theory  are  to  be  found  in  Chapters  VI. — IX.  of  Mr. 
Darwin's  own  work,  where  they  are  elaborately  and  in  most 
cases  conclusively  answered.  To  such  a  marvellous  instance 
of  candour,  patience,  and  sobriety,  united  with  the  utmost 
boldness  of  speculation,  the  history  of  science  can  show  but 
few  parallels. 

In  1858,  a  fortunate  circumstance  caused  Mr.  Darwin  to 
break  his  long  silence,  and  to  give  to  the  public  an  exposition 
of  the  results  of  his  researches.  Mr.  Wallace,  who  had  been 
for  several  years  engaged  in  studying  the  natural  history  of 
the  Malay  Archipelago,  had  arrived  at  views  concerning  the 
origin  of  species  quite  similar  to  Mr.  Darwin's,  and  in  1858  he 
sent  Mr.  Darwin  an  essay  on  the  subject,  which  in  August  of 
the  same  year  was  published  in  the  Journal  of  the  Linnaean 
Society.  Sir  Charles  Lyell  and  Dr.  Hooker  now  earnestly 
advised  Mr.  Darwin  to  publish  his  own  views ;  and  in  1859 
the  memorable  treatise  on  the  "  Origin  of  Species "  was 
given  to  the  world. 

It  would,  however,  be  incorrect  to  rate  Mr.  Wallace's  merits, 
in  the  discovery  of  the  law  of  natural  selection,  so  high  as 
Mr.  Darwin's.  They  do  not  stand  on  precisely  the  same 
level,  like  Adams  and  Leverrier  with  reference  to  the  disco- 
very of  the  planet  Neptune.  Mr.  Wallace,  indeed,  thought 
out  independently  all  the  essential  points  of  the  theory,  and 
stated  it  in  a  way  which  showed  that  he  understood  its 
wide-reaching  importance;  but  being  a  much  younger  man 


6  COSMIC  FEILOSOrHY.  [i-t.  ii. 

than  Mr.  Darwin,  and  having  begun  the  investigation  at  a 
much  later  date,  he  by  no  means  worked  it  out  so  elabo- 
rately. Nor  is  it  likely  that,  with  an  equal  length  of  time 
at  his  command,  he  could  have  succeeded  in  producing  a 
work  comparable  in  scientific  calibre  to  the  "  Origin  of 
Species."  His  lately  published  collection  of  essays,  whilo 
showing  unusual  powers  of  observation  and  rare  acuteness  in 
the  application  of  his  theory  to  certain  special  classes  of 
phenomena,  nevertheless  furnishes  convincing  proof  that  in 
breadth  and  depth  of  scientific  attainment,  as  well  as  in 
philosophic  capacity,  he  is  very  far  inferior  to  his  great 
coadjutor.  In  his  preface,  indeed,  Mr.  Wallace  hastens  to 
acknowledge,  with  a  modest  self-appreciation  as  rare  as  it  is 
admirable,  and  especially  rare  in  such  cases,  that  his  strength 
would  have  been  quite  unequal  to  the  task  which  Mr.  Darwin 
has  accomplished. 

As  Prof.  Haeckel  somewhere  observes,  it  was  quite  fortunate 
for  the  progress  of  science  that  Mr.  Darwin  received  such  a 
stimulus  to  the  publication  of  his  theory ;  since  otherwise 
he  might  perhaps  have  gone  on  several  years  longer, 
observing  and  experimenting  in  seclusion.  The  almost  im- 
mediate acquiescence  of  the  majority  of  naturalists  in  Mr. 
Darwin's  views,  shows  that  in  1859  the  scientific  world 
was  fully  prepared  for  them.  The  flimsiness  of  the  special- 
creation  hypothesis  was  more  or  less  clearly  perceived  by 
a  large  number  of  biologists,  who  were  only  withheld  from 
committing  themselves  to  the  derivation  theory  by  the  cir- 
cumstance that  no  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  process  of 
development  had  been  propounded.  No  one  had  assigned 
an  adequate  cause  for  such  a  phenomenon  as  the  gradual 
evolution  of  a  new  species ;  and  sundry  attempts  which  had 
been  made  in  this  direction  were  so  obviously  futile  as  to 
fcxcite  both  distrust  and  ridicule.  Lamarck,  for  example, 
placing  an  exaggerated  stress  upon  an  established  law  of 
biology,  contended  that  "desires,  by  leading  to  increased 


CH.X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION.  \ 

actions  of  motor  organs,  may  induce  further  development  of 
such  organs,"  and  that,  consequently,  animals  may  become 
directly  adapted  through  structural  changes  to  changes  in 
their  environment.  We  shall  see,  as  we  continue  the  dis- 
cussion, that  such  directly  adaptive  changes  really  take 
place ;  but  Lamarck  ill  understood  their  character,  and 
indeed  could  not  have  been  expected  to  understand  it, 
since  in  his  day  dynamical  biology  was  in  its  earliest  in- 
fancy.* By  insisting  on  volition  as  a  chief  cause  of  adaptive 
change,  the  illustrious  naturalist  not  only  left  the  causes  of 
vegetable  variation  unexplained,  but  even  in  the  zoological 
department  laid  open  the  way  for  malicious  misrepresen- 
tations which  the  uninstructed  zeal  of  theological  adversaries 
has  gladly  transferred  to  the  account  of  Mr.  Darwin.  Some 
time  ago  a  clergyman  in  New  Yoik,  lecturing  about  Dar- 
winism, sarcastically  alluded  to  "the  bear  which  took  to 
swimming,  and  so  became  a  whale."  Had  this  worthy  person 
condescended  to  study  the  subject  about  which  he  thought 
himself  fit  to  enlighten  the  public,  he  would  soon  have  dis- 
covered that  his  funny  remark  is  not  even  a  parody  upon 
any  opinion  held  by  Mr.  Darwin.  In  so  far  as  it  is  appli- 
cable to  any  opinion  ever  held  by  a  scientific  writer,  it  may 
perhaps  be  accepted  as  a  parody,  though  at  best  a  very  far- 
fetched and  feeble  one,  of  the  hypothesis  of  Lamarck. 

It  is  now  time  to  explain  what  the  Darwinian  theory  is. 
At  the  outset  we  may  observe  that  whUe  it  is  a  common  error 
to  speak  of  Mr.  Darwin  as  if  he  were  the  originator  of  the 
derivation  theory,  the  opposite  error  is  not  unfrequently 
committed  of  alluding  to  him  as  if  he  had  contributed 
nothing  to  the  establishment  of  that  theory  save  the  doctrine 
of  natural  selection.  Mr.  Mivart  habitually  thus  alludes  to 
him.  In  fact,  however,  Mr.  Darwin's  merits  are  twofold. 
He  was  the  first  to  marshal  the  arguments  from  classification, 

^  Lamarck  also  tried  to  explain  organic  development  metaphysically,  a« 
the  continuous  manifestation  of  an  *'  inherent  tendency  "  toward  perfection. 


8  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

embryology,  morphology,  and  distribution,  and  thus  fairly  to 
establish  the  fact  that  there  has  been  a  derivation  of  higher 
forms  from  lower ;  and  he  was  also  the  first  to  point  out 
the  modus  operandi  of  the  change.  The  first  of  these  achieve- 
ments by  itself  would  have  entitled  him  to  associate  his  name 
with  the  development  theory;  though  it  was  only  by  the 
second  that  the  triumph  of  the  theory  was  practically  assured. 
Just  as,  in  astronomy,  the  heliocentric  theory  was  not  regarded 
as  completely  established  until  the  forces  which  it  postulated 
were  explained  as  identical  with  forces  already  known,  so  the 
development  theory  possessed  comparatively  little  value  as  a 
working  hypothesis  so  long  as  it  still  remained  doubtful 
whether  there  were  any  known  or  knowable  causes  sufficient 
to  have  brought  about  the  phrmomena  which  that  theory 
assumed  to  have  taken  place.  It  was  by  pointing  out  ade- 
quate causes  of  organic  evolution  that  Mr.  Darwin  established 
the  development  theory  upon  a  thoroughly  scientific  basis. 

As  Lyell  explained  all  past  geologic  phenomena  as  due  to 
the  slow  action  of  the  same  forces  which  are  still  in.,  action 
over  the  earth's  surface  and  beneath  its  crust,  so  Mr.  Darwin, 
in  explaining  the  evolution  oi  higher  from  lower  forms  of 
life,  appeals  only  to  agencies  which  are  still  visibly  in  action. 
"Whether  species,  in  a  state  of  nature,  are  changing  or  not  at 
the  present  time,  cannot  be  determined  by  direct  observation, 
any  more  than  the  motion  of  the  hour-hand  of  a  clock  could 
be  detected  by  gazing  at  it  for  one  second.^    The  entire  period 

^  "  If  we  imagine  mankind  to  be  contemplated  by  some  creature  as  short- 
lived as  an  ephemeron,  but  possessing  intelligence  like  our  own — ^if  we 
imagine  such  a  being  studying  men  and  women,  during  his  few  hours  of  life, 
and  speculating  as  to  the  mode  in  which  they  came  into  existence  ;  it  is 
manifest  that,  reasoning  in  the  usual  way,  he  would  suppose  each  man  and 
woman  to  have  been  separately  created.  No  appreciable  changes  of  structure 
-jccuning  during  the  few  hours  over  which  his  observations  extended,  thia 
being  would  probably  infer  that  no  changes  of  structure  were  taking  place,  oi 
had  taken  place  ;  and  that  Irom  the  outset,  each  man  and  woman  had  pos- 
sessed all  the  characters  then  visible — had  been  originally  formed  with  them. 
This  would  naturally  be  the  first  impression." — S'peucer,  Frincijiles  0/ JBiology, 
Tol.  i  p.  338. 


«H.  X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION.  9 

which  has  elapsed  since  men  hegan  to  observe  nature  sys- 
tematically, is  but  an  infinitesimal  portion  of  the  period 
requisite  for  any  fundamental  alteration  in  the  characteristics 
of  a  species.  But  there  are  innumerable  cases  in  which 
species  are  made  to  change  rapidly  through  the  deliberate 
intervention  of  man.  In  the  course  of  a  few  thousand  years, 
a  great  number  of  varieties  of  plants  and  animals  have  been 
produced  under  domestication,  many  of  which  differ  so  widely 
from  their  parent- forms  that,  if  found  in  a  state  of  nature, 
they  would  be  unhesitatingly  classified  as  distinct  species, 
and  sometimes  as  distinct  genera.  Modifications  in  the 
specific  characters  of  domesticated  organisms  are  the  only 
ones  which  take  place  so  rapidly  that  we  can  actually  observe 
them ;  and  it  therefore  becomes  highly  important  to  inquire 
what  is  the  agency  which  produces  these  modifications. 

That  agency  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  selection,  taking 
advantage  of  that  slight  but  universal  variation  in  organisms 
implied  by  the  fact  that  no  two  individuals  in  any  species 
are  exactly  alike.  If  man,  for  example,  wishes  to  produce  a 
breed  of  fleet  race-horses,  he  has  only  to  take  a  score  of 
horses  and  select  from  these  the  fleetest  to  pair  together: 
from  among  the  offspring  of  these  fleet  pairs  he  must  again 
select  the  fleetest ;  and  thus,  in  a  few  generations,  he  will 
obtain  horses  whose  average  speed  far  exceeds  that  of  the 
fleetest  of  their  undomesticated  ancestors.  It  is  in  this  and 
no  other  way  that  our  breeds  of  race-horses  have  been  pro- 
duced. In  this  way  too  have  been  produced  the  fine  wools 
of  which  our  clothing  is  made.  By  selecting,  generation  after 
generation,  the  sheep  with  the  finest  and  longest  wool,  a  breed 
of  sheep  is  ultimately  reared  with  wool  almost  generically 
different  from  that  of  the  undomesticated  race.  In  this  and 
no  other  way  have  the  different  races  of  dogs — the  greyhound, 
the  mastiff,  the  terrier,  the  pointer,  and  the  white-haired 
Eskimo — been  artificially  developed  from  two  or  three  closely 
allied  varieties  of  the  wolf  and  jackal.     The  mastiff  and 


10  COSMIG  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

blood-hound  are  more  than  ten  times  as  large  as  the  terrier, 
and,  if  found  in  a  state  of  nature,  they  would  perhaps  be 
classed  in  distinct  genera,  like  the  leopard  and  panther,  whose 
differences  are  hardly  more  striking.     Yet  the  ancestral  racea 
from  which  these  dogs  have  been  reared  differed  but  slightly 
from  each  other.     The  different  breeds  of  dogs  vary  in  the 
number  of  their  toes,  teeth,  and  vertebrae,  in  the  number 
and    disposition   of  their  mammae,  in   the   shape   of  their 
zygomatic   arches,  and   in   the   position   of   their   occiputs; 
although  dogs  have  not  been  selected  with  reference  to  these 
peculiarities,  about  which  uninstructed   men   neither  know 
nor  care,  but  only  with  reference  to  their  speed,  fleetness, 
strength,  or  sagacity.     In  the  case  of  domestic  pigeons,  where 
man  has  been  to  a  great  extent  actuated  by  pure  fancy  in  his 
selections,  the  divergences  are  still  more   remarkable.     All 
domestic  pigeons  are  descended  from  a  single  species  of  wild 
pigeon ;   yet  their  differences,  even  in  bony  structure,  in  the 
internal  organs,  and  in  mental  disposition,  are  such  as  charac- 
terize distinct  genera,  and  to  describe  them  completely  would 
recLuire  a  large  volume.     Pigs,  rabbits,  cows,  fowl,  silk- moths, 
and  hive-bees  furnish  no  less  instructive  evidence ;  and  the 
development  of  the  peach  and  the  almond  from  a  common 
stock,  and  of  countless  varieties  of  apple  from  the  sour  crab, 
may  be  cited,  out  of  a  hundred  examples,  to  show  what  pro- 
digies artificial  selection  has  accomplished  in  the  modification 
of  vegetal  organisms. 

Now  Mr.  Darwin's  great  achievement  has  been  to  show 
that  a  similar  process  of  selection,  going  on  throughout  the 
organic  world  without  the  knowledge  or  intervention  of 
man,  tends  not  only  to  maintain  but  to  produce  adaptive 
alterations  in  plants  and  animals.  The  process  is  a  simple 
one,  when  once  we  have  the  clew  to  it.  All  plants  and 
animals  tend  to  increase  in  a  high  geometrical  ratio.  The 
old  problem  of  the  nails  in  the  horse's  shoe  teaches 
us  what  an  astounding  affair  is  a  geometrical  rate  of  in- 


ts.  X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION.  11 

crease;  but  when  we  consider  the  reproductive  capacity  of 
insects  and  plants,  the  nails  in  the  horse's  shoe  are  left  no- 
where. When  Arctic  travellers  tell  us  that  the  minute  proto- 
coccus  multiplies  so  fast  as  to  colour  blood-red  many  acres 
of  snow  in  a  single  night,  such  a  rate  of  increase  appears 
astonishing.  But  it  is  a  mere  trifle  compared  to  what  would 
happen  if  reproduction  were  to  go  on  unchecked.  Let  us 
take  the  case  of  a  plant  which  yields  one  hundred  seeds 
yearly,  and  suppose  each  of  these  seeds  to  reach  maturity  so 
as  to  yield  its  hundred  offspring  in  the  following  year :  in  the 
tenth  year  the  product  would  be  one  hundred  quintillions^ 
of  adult  plants !  As  this  is  one  of  those  figures  before  which 
the  imagination  stands  hopelessly  baffled,  let  us  try  the  effect 
of  an  illustration.  Supposing  each  of  these  plants  to  be  from 
three  to  five  inches  in  length,  so  that  about  twenty  thousand 
would  reach  an  English  mile,  the  total  length  of  the  number 
just  mentioned  would  be  equal  to  five  million  times  the  radius 
of  the  earth's  orbit.  The  ray  of  light,  which  travels  from  the 
sun  to  the  earth  in  eight  minutes,  would  be  seventy-six  years 
in  passing  along  this  line  of  little  plants !  And  in  similar 
wise,  it  might  be  shown  of  many  insects,  crustaceans,  and 
fishes,  that  their  unchecked  reproduction  could  not  long  go 
on  without  requiring  the  assimilation  of  a  greater  quantity 
of  matter  than  is  contained  in  the  whole  solar  system. 

We  may  now  begin  dimly  to  realize  how  prodigious  is  the 
slaughter  which  unceasingly  goes  on  throughout  the  organic 
tvorld.  For  obviously,  when  a  plant,  like  the  one  just  cited, 
maintains  year  by  year  a  tolerable  uniformity  in  its  numbers, 
it  does  so  only  because  on  the  average  ninety-nine  seeds 
porish  prematurely  for  one  that  survives  long  enough  to 
produce  other  seeds.  A  single  codfish  has  been  known  to 
lay  six  million  eggs  within  a  year.  If  these  eggs  were  all 
to  become  adult  codfishes,  and  the  multiplication  were  to 

'  According  to  the  American  system  of  numeration.  One  hundred  thousand 
trillions,  according  to  the  English  system. 


12  COSMIC  FHILOSOPRY,  [pt.  n. 

continue  at  this  rate  for  three  or  four  years,  the  ocean  would 
not  afford  room  for  the  species.  Yet  we  liave  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  the  race  of  codfishes  is  actually  increasing  in 
numbers  to  any  notable  extent.  With  the  codfish,  as  with 
animal  species  in  general,  the  numbers  during  many  succes- 
sive generations  oscillate  about  a  point  which  is  fixed,  or 
moves  but  slowly  forward  or  backward.  Instead  of  a 
geometrical  increase  with  a  ratio  of  six  millions,  there  is 
practically  no  marked  increase  at  all.  Now  this  implies  that 
out  of  the  six  million  embryo  codfish  a  sufficient  number 
will  survive  to  replace  their  two  parents,  and  to  replace  a 
certain  small  proportion  of  those  contemporary  codfishes  who 
leave  no  progeny.  Perhaps  a  dozen  may  suffice  for  this, 
perhaps  a  hundred.  The  rest  of  the  six  million  must  die. 
We  may  thus  understand  what  is  meant  by  the  "struggle 
for  existence."  Battles  far  more  deadly  than  those  of 
Gettysburg  or  Gravelotte  have  been  incessantly  waged  on 
every  square  mile  of  the  earth's  life-bearing  surface,  since 
life  first  began.  It  is  only  thus  that  the  enormous  increase 
of  each  species  has  been  kept  within  bounds.  Of  the  many 
offspring  produced  by  each  plant  and  animal,  save  in  the  case 
of  those  highest  in  the  scale,  but  few  attain  maturity  and 
leave  offspring  behind  them.  The  most  perish  for  want  of 
sustenance,  or  are  slain  to  furnish  food  for  other  organisms. 
There  is  thus  an  unceasing  struggle  for  life — a  competition 
for  the  means  of  subsistence — going  on  among  all  plants  and 
animals.  In  this  struggle  by  far  the  greater  number  succumb 
without  leaving  offspring,  but  a  few  favoured  ones  in  each 
generation  survive  and  propagate  to  their  offspring  the 
qualities  by  virtue  of  which  they  have  survived. 

Thus  we  see  what  is  meant  by  "  Natural  Selection.'*  The 
organisms  which  survive  and  propagate  their  kind  are  those 
which  are  best  adapted  to  the  conditions  in  which  they  live  • 
so  that  we  may,  by  a  legitimate  use  of  metaphor,  personify 
Nature  as  a  mighty  breeder,  selecting  from  each  generation 


CH.  X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION,  18 

those  individuals  which  are  fleetest,  strongest,  most  sagacious, 
lious  with  supplest  muscles,  moths  witii  longest  antennae, 
moUusks  with  hardest  shells,  wolves  with  keenest  scent,  bees 
with  surest  instinct,  flowers  with  sweetest  nectar, — until,  in 
the  tjourse  of  untold  ages,  the  numberless  varieties  of  organic 
life  have  been  produced  by  the  same  process  of  which  man 
now  takes  advantage  in  order  to  produce  variations  to  suit 
his  own  caprices. 

Between  natural  selection  and  selection  by  man  there  is, 
however,  one  important  difference.  Selection  by  man  tends 
to  produce  varieties  adapted  to  satisfy  human  necessities  or 
inclinations,  and  it  has  no  direct  reference  to  the  maintenance 
of  the  species.  Such  abnormities  as  the  pouter  and  tumbler 
pigeons  could  not  be  sustained  in  a  state  of  nature ;  and 
hence,  when  domesticated  animals  are  turned  loose,  they  are 
apt  to  revert  to  something  like  their  ancestral  type,^  else  they 
are  exterminated  by  races  better  adapted  to  wild  life.  But 
natural  selection,  working  with  the  sternest  of  methods,  saves 
from  the  general  slaughter  only  those  individuals  which  can 
best  take  care  of  themselves,  and  thus  maintains  each  species 
in  adaptation  to  its  environment.  The  wonderful  harmonies 
in  the  organic  world,  which  a  crude  philosophy  explained  as 
the  achievement  of  creative  contrivance,  are  therefore  due  to 
the  continued  survival  of  the  fittest  and  the  continued 
slaughter  of  the  less  adapted  plants  and  animals. 

Now  if  the  geography  and  meteorology  of  the  earth  were 
ever-constant,  if  the  nature  of  the  soil,  the  amount  of 
moisture,  the  density  of  the  atmosphere,  and  the  intensity  of 
solar  radiance  were  everywhere  to  remain  forever  unaltered, 
and  if  each  race  of  plants  and  animals  were  always  to  remain 
confined  to  one  limited  area,  the  survival  of  the  fittest  would 
simply  maintain  unaltered  any  given  aspect  of  the  beings 
constituting  the  organic  world.     All  variations  on  either  side 

1  This  fact,  wliich  has  often  been  alleged  by  superficial  critics  as  an  obstacle. 
to  the  Darwinian  theory,  is  thus  in  reaJity  implied  by  that  theory. 


14  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

of  the  well-adjiisted  mean  would  be  incessantly  cut  off  b} 
natural  selection,  and  species  would  be  immutable.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  no  such  state  of  things  has  ever  existed. 
Constant  change  has  been  the  order  of  things  ever  since  our 
planet  first  became  fit  to  support  organic  life.  No  part  of 
the  earth's  surface  is  now,  or  ever  has  been,  at  rest.  Oon- 
tinents  are  rising  and  sinking,  seas  are  growiog  deeper  and 
shallower,  soils  are  constantly  altering  in  chemical  composi- 
tion, rivers  are  ever  changing  their  beds,  solar  radiance  is 
ever  gaining  or  losing  in  intensity,  according  to  the  earth's 
ever-varying  position  in  space,  the  density  and  moisture  ol 
the  air  are  continually  increasing  and  diminishing,  and  every 
species  of  plant  and  animal  is  continually  pressing  upon  the 
limits  of  the  area  within  which  it  is  confined.  All  these 
changes  are  going  on  to-day,  and  have  been  going  on  during 
millions  of  ages.  Though  so  slight  as  to  be  recognized  only 
by  the  most  careful  observation  during  the  period  covered 
by  human  history,  these  changes  have  during  longer  periods 
sufficed  to  submerge  every  continent  and  perhaps  to  make  dry 
land  of  every  sea  and  ocean  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  They 
have  raised  mountains  like  the  Andes  and  the  Himalayas  at 
the  rate  of  a  few  inches  per  century ;  they  have  converted  ex- 
tensive tropical  swamps  into  the  desert  of  Sahara  ;  they  have 
repeatedly  covered  Europe  and  ISTorth  America  with  glaciers ; 
and  they  have  hidden  beneath  solid  rocks  vast  treasures  of 
carbon  stealthily  purloined  from  the  dense  atmosphere  of  an 
older  age. 

Since  such  changes  have  ever  been  going  on,  it  follows  that 
organisms  have  been  unable  to  remain  constant  and  live.  A 
race  of  animals  or  plants  in  which  no  individuals  ever  varied 
would  sooner  or  later  inevitably  be  exterminated,  leaving  no 
progeny  to  fill  its  place.  Observation  shows,  however,  that 
there  is  no  such  race.  The  members  of  each  species  are  evei 
slightly  varying,  but,  so  long  as  the  environment  remains 
constant,  natural  selection  prevents    the    variations    from 


CH.  X.]  NATUBAL  SELECTION.  16 

accumulating  on  either  side  of  the  mean  which  is  most 
advantageous  to  the  species.  When  the  environment  changes, 
if  certain  variations  on  one  side  of  the  established  mean 
tend  to  bring  the  individuals  which  manifest  them  into  closer 
adaptation  to  the  new  environment,  these  individuals  will 
survive  in  the  struggle  for  life,  and  thus  the  average  character 
of  the  species  will  be  slightly  altered.  No  two  bears  have 
just  the  same  amount  of  hair,  no  two  moths  have  just  the 
same  length  of  proboscis,  no  two  antelopes  are  exactly  matched 
in  fleetness.  Now  if  increasing  cold  renders  a  thicker 
covering  useful  to  the  bear,  or  if  the  lengthening  of  a  flower- 
calyx,  due  to  a  slight  change  in  soil  or  quantity  of  sunlight, 
renders  a  longer  proboscis  useful  to  the  moth,  or  if  the 
immigration  of  a  carnivorous  animal  makes  it  necessary  for 
antelopes  often  to  run  for  their  lives,  then  in  each  generation 
the  thickest-coated  bears,  the  longest-tongued  moths,  and  the 
fleetest  antelopes  wall  survive.  Every  individual  variation 
in  the  direction  of  a  heavier  coat,  a  longer  sucker,  or  a 
structure  better  adapted  for  fleeing  will  give  its  owner  the 
advantage  in  the  incessant  struggle  for  life,  and  these 
peculiarities  will  be  oftenest  inherited,  while  individuals 
which  do  not  vary,  or  which  vary  in  the  wrong  direction, 
will  have  to  migrate  or  die.^ 

The  student  of  natural  history,  who  realizes,  however 
dimly,  the  prodigious  complexity  of  the  relations  of  the 
various  species  of  animals  and  plants  to  each  other,  will 
Derceive  that  the  amount  of  variation  thus  preserved  and 
enhanced  must  in  the  course  of  long  ages  become  enormous. 
If  a  grain  of  sand  were  each  year  added  to  an  ant-heap,  it 
would  in  course  of  time  become  as  large  as  Chimborazo.  But 
these  changes,  directly  caused  by  natural  selection,  are  greatly 


*  It  is  thus  one  of  the  great  merits  of  the  theory  of  natural  selection,  that 
It  accounts  for  the  phenomena  of  extinction  of  species, — wliich  formerly  could 
only  be  accounted  lor  by  the  gratuitous  and  utterly  indefensible  hypothesis 
of  periodical  catastrophes  or  cataclysms. 


16  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii. 

aided  and  emphasized  by  other  changes  indirectly  produced 
by  correlation  of  growth,  and  also  by  what  is  called  the  law 
of  use  and  disuse.  By  correlation  of  growth,  or  internal 
equilibration,  we  mean  the  effect  produced  upon  any  part  of 
the  organism  by  change  in  a  related  or  neighbouring  part. 
Let  us  suppose  that  it  becomes  advantageous  to  some  feline 
animal,  like  the  ancestor  of  the  lion,  to  have  large  and  power- 
ful jaws.  Since  no  two  of  our  leonines  would  have  jaws  of 
exactly  the  same  size  and  strength,  natural  selection  would 
preserve  all  the  strong-jawed  individuals,  while  the  weak- 
jawed  individuals  would  succumb  in  the  struggle  for  life.  In 
the  course  of  many  generations  our  race  of  leonines  would 
possess  on  the  average  much  larger  and  stronger  jaws  than  at 
the  period  at  which  we  began  to  consider  it.  But  greater 
weight  of  jaw  entails  increased  exertion  of  the  muscles 
which  move  the  jaw,  so  that  these  muscles,  receiving  more 
and  more  blood,  will  become  permanently  increased  in  size 
and  power.  The  portions  of  the  skull  into  which  the  jaw- 
bones fit  will  likewise  receive  an  extra  strain,  and  will  con- 
sequently increase  in  rate  of  nutrition  and  grow  to  a  larger 
size,  so  that  the  shape  of  the  whole  head  will  be  altered. 
This  increased  weight  of  the  head,  and  the  increasingly 
violent  activity  of  the  muscles  which  move  the  jaws,  entails  a 
greater  strain  upon  the  vertebrse  which  support  the  head,  and 
upon  the  cervical  muscles  which  move  it  from  side  to  side. 
The  heightened  nutrition  of  these  bones  and  muscles  will 
add  to  their  weight,  so  that  the  shoulders  and  chest  will  be 
affected.  There  will  be  a  tightening  of  the  tendons,  and 
probably  a  perceptible  alteration  in  the  relative  lengths  of 
the  different  bones  and  muscles  throughout  the  anterior  part 
of  the  body  ;  and  these  changes,  altering  the  animal's  centre 
of  gravity,  will  inevitably  cause  other  compensating  changes 
in  the  rest  of  the  body.  The  legs,  shoulders  and  haunchea 
will  be  modified.  Alterations  in  the  weights  bearing  upon 
*he  chest  will  affect  the  growth  of  the  lunss  and.  the  aeration 


Ufl.  X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION.  17 

of  the  blood.  And  the  stomach,  intestines,  and  various 
eecreting  glands  will  respond  to  the  requirements  of  all  these 
nutritive  changes.  While,  lastly,  such  deep-seated  variations 
cannot  fail  to  influence  the  nervous  system  of  the  animal,  and 
to  modify  somewhat  its  temperament  and  its  modes  of  life. 

To  illustrate  the  effects  of  use  and  disuse,  let  us  reconsider 
the  antelopes,  of  whom  natural  selection  has  so  long  pre« 
served  the  swiftest  and  most  quickly  frightened  individuals 
that  they  now  rank  among  the  fleetest  and  most  timid  of 
mammals.  If  all  the  lions  and  other  swift  caruivora  of 
Africa  were  to  become  extinct,  so  that  antelopes  would  no 
longer  have  to  run  for  their  lives,  the  slower  and  less  easily 
alarmed  individuals  would  begin  to  be  preserved  in  as  great 
numbers  as  the  swifter  and  more  timid  ones,  so  that  by  and 
by  the  average  speed  and  timidity  of  the  race  would  be 
diminished.  In  all  this  we  see  merely  the  effects  wrought  by 
unaided  natural  selection.  But  it  is  a  fundamental  law  of 
biology  that  functions  are  maintained  at  their  maximum  only 
through  constant  exercise.  Freed  from  savage  enemies,  our 
antelopes  would  less  frequently  use  the  muscles  concerned  in 
running,  and  would  less  often  exercise  the  mental  faculties 
concerned  in  the  rapid  perception  of  approaching  danger. 
Inevitably,  therefore,  they  would,  after  several  generations, 
diminish  in  speed,  and  become  less  alert  and  less  timid. 
Here  we  see  the  effects  of  what  is  called  the  law  of  use  and 
disuse.  But  to  these  we  should  also  have  to  add  the  effects 
of  correlation  of  growth.  Decrease  in  speed,  involving 
decrease  in  muscular  tonicity,  and  rendering  possible  the 
assimilation  of  less  concentrated  food,  would  seriously  modify 
the  nutrition  of  the  entire  organism.  The  digestive  tract 
would  probably  be  enlarged,  and  larger  and  lazier  bodies 
could  not  fail  to  be  produced,  both  by  the  direct  influence  of 
the  nutritive  processes,  and  because  natural  selection  would 
uo  longer  necessitate  the  slaughter  of  all  clumsy-bodied 
individuals.     Thus  in  course  of  time  the  breed  of  antelopes 

VOL.  IL  O 


18  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

would  become  so  thoroughly  altered  as  to  constitute  a  distinct 
species  from  their  graceful,  swift,  and  timid  ancestors.  It  is 
in  just  these  ways  that  New  Zealand  birds,  freed  by  insular 
isolation  from  the  attacks  of  mammalian  enemies,  have  grown 
large  and  clumsy,  and  have  lost  the  power  of  flight  which 
their  partly-aborted  wings  show  that  they  once  possessed. 

By  the  same  kind  of  illustration  we  may  form  a  rough 
notion  of  the  way  in  which  a  single  species  bifurcates  into 
two  well-defined  species.  Suppose  a  race  of  ruminants  to 
have  been  living  in  Africa  before  the  introduction  of  car- 
nivora,  and  suppose  that,  for  sundry  reasons,  the  vitality  of 
the  race  was  but  little  affected  by  moderate  variations  in 
the  sizes  of  its  individuals,  so  that  while  some  were  com- 
paratively light  and  nimble,  others  were  comparatively  large 
and  clumsy.  Now  introducing  upon  the  scene  the  common 
ancestor  of  the  lion  and  the  leopard — by  immigration  either 
from  Asia  or  from  some  other  adjacent  territory  now  sub- 
merged— let  us  note  some  probable  features  of  the  complex 
result.  First,  as  regards  the  attacked  ruminants,  it  is  likely 
that  in  course  of  time  the  lightest  and  swiftest  individuals, 
habitually  taking  refuge  in  flight,  would  have  greatly  increased 
both  infleetness  and  in  timidity;  the  largest  and  most  clumsy 
of  the  species,  unable  to  save  themselves  by  fleeing,  would 
often  be  forced  to  stand  and  fight  for  their  lives,  and  would 
thus  ultimately  have  gained  in  size,  strength,  and  courage ; 
while  those  who  were  neither  nimble  enougb  to  got  out  of 
the  way  nor  strong  enough  to  fight  successfully  would  have 
all  been  killed  off.  And  thus,  after  a  while,  by  perpetual 
destruction  of  the  means  and  preservation  of  the  extremes, 
we  should  get  two  kinds  of  ruminant  as  different  from  one 
another  as  the  antelope  which  escapes  by  his  fleetness  and 
cautious  timidity,  and  the  buffalo  which  boldly  withstands 
the  lion  and  not  unfrequently  conquers  or  repulses  him. 
Secondly,  let  us  observe  what  must  have  been  going  on  ah 
*he  while  with  the  attacking  carnivora.     The  lighter  and  less 


2H.  X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION.  19 

powerful  of  these  would  find  manifest  advantage  in  crouching 
amid  dense  foliage  and  springing  down  upon  unwary  victims 
passing  below.  The  larger  and  more  powerful  individuals 
would  more  frequently  roam  about  the  open  country,  attack- 
ing the  larger  ruminants  and  giving  chase  to  the  nimbler 
ones,  and  would  thus  increase  in  strength  and  fleetnesa. 
And  thus  there  would  be  initiated  such  differences  of  size 
and  habit  as  characterize  the  leopard  and  the  lion. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  is  a  purely  hypothe- 
tical illustration,  which  does  not  pretend  to  give  a  complete 
account  of  the  complex  process.  I  have  no  idea  tliat  the 
differentiation  between  antelopes  and  buffaloes,  or  between 
lions  and  leopards,  was  accomplished  in  any  such  straight- 
forward way  as  this.  But  while  unduly  simplifying  the 
case,  the  illustration  is  undoubtedly  sound  in  principle.  No 
doubt  the  lion  is  so  strong  and  so  swift  because  only  the 
strongest  and  swiftest  lions  have  been  able  to  prey  at  once 
upon  buffaloes  and  upon  antelopes.  No  doubt  the  antelope 
is  so  swift  and  so  timid  because  only  the  swiftest  and  most 
quickly-frightened  antelopes  have  been  enabled  to  get  away 
from  the  lion,  and  to  propagate  their  kind.  And  no  doubt  in 
the  process  above  described,  we  get  a  partial  glimpse  of  some 
of  the  essential  incidents  in  the  past  careers  of  these  races. 

All  the  foregoing  illustrations  unite  in  enforcing  the  con- 
clusion that  the  direct  and  indirect  effects  of  natural  selection 
are  by  no  means  limited  to  slight  or  superficial  changes  in 
organisms.  The  student  of  physiology  well  knows  that  no 
change,  however  seemingly  trivial,  which  ensures  the  sur- 
vival of  the  organism  in  its  fierce  struggle  for  existence,  can 
fail  in  the  long  run  to  entail  so  many  other  changes  as  to 
modify,  more  or  less  perceptibly,  the  entire  structure.  Even 
Buch  a  slight  change  as  an  increased  thickness  of  the  woolly 
coat  of  a  mammal  may,  by  altering  the  excretory  power  oi 
the  skin,  affect  the  functions  of  the  lungs,  liver,  and  kidneys, 
and  thus    indirectly  increase  or   diminish  the   size   of  the 

C  2 


so  COSMIC  FBILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

animal,  which  in  turn  will  modify  its  speed,  its  muscular 
development,  its  mental  faculties,  and  its  habits  of  life. 

Having  thus  briefly  indicated  the  capacity  of  the  theory  of 
natural  selection  for  explaining  the  most  general  phenomena 
of  organic  variation,  let  us  in  conclusion  observe  how  admir- 
ably it  explains  certain  special  phenomena,  which  do  not 
otherwise  admit  of  scientific  explanation.  For  evidence  of 
the  signal  success  with  which  Mr.  Darwin  has  explained 
such  otherwise  unaccountable  facts  as  the  dimorphism  of 
certain  flowers,  the  existence  of  neuters  or  sterile  females 
among  bees  and  ants,  the  odoriferous  glands  in  mammals, 
the  calcareous  shells  of  mollusks,  the  heavy  carapace  of  the 
tortoise,  the  humps  of  the  camel,  the  amazingly  complicated 
contrivances  through  which  orchidaceous  plants  are  fertilized 
by  insects,  the  slave-making  instinct  of  certain  ants,  the 
horns  of  male  ruminants,  and  countless  other  phenomena ; 
for  all  this,  I  must  refer  to  Mr.  Darwin's  various  works. 
From  the  mass  of  phenomena  to  which  the  theory  of  natural 
selection  has  been  satisfactorily  applied,  I  will  only  select 
as  an  illustration  the  case  of  colour,  iu  the  animal  and 
vegetal  kingdoms. 

Until  after  the  publication  of  Mr.  Darwin's  speculations, 
the  colours  of  plants  and  animals  had  never  been  made  the 
subject  of  careful  and  philosophical  study.  So  far  as  any 
hypothesis  was  held  concerning  these  phenomena,  it  was  the 
vaguely  conceived  hypothesis  that  they  are  due  to  the  direct 
action  of  such  physical  conditions  as  climate,  soil,  or  food. 
But  there  dre  fatal  objections  to  such  an  explanation.  When 
Dr.  Forbes  Winslow,  in  his  work  on  the  "  Physiological 
Influence  of  Light,"  tells  us  that  "  the  white  colour  of  ani- 
mals inhabiting  the  polar  regions  is  attributable  to  the 
absence  of  intense  sunlight,"  it  is  an  obvious  objection  that 
the  polar  regions  are  not  pre-eminent  for  darkness.  Though 
within  the  limits  of  the  arctic  circle  the  sun  is  below  the 
horizon  for  six  months  together,  it  is  none  the  less  for  the 


CH,  X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION.  21 

other  six  mouths  above  the  horizon ;  and  though  its  slanting 
rays  do  not  cause  excessive  heat  in  the  summer,  the  prolonged 
glare  of  light,  intensiiied  by  reflection  from  the  snow  and  ice, 
is  described  as  peculiarly  intolerable.  The  summer  ought  to 
tan  the  polar  bears  as  much  as  the  winter  can  bleach  them. 
And  to  this  it  may  be  added  that  the  Eskimos  and  Green- 
landers,  living  under  the  polar  circle,  are  not  bleached. 
Several  other  facts,  alike  incompatible  with  the  direct  action 
of  physical  agencies,  are  mentioned  by  Mr.  Wallace.  While 
wild  rabbits,  for  instance,  are  always  tinted  grey  or  brown, 
the  same  rabbits,  when  domesticated,  give  birth  to  white  and 
black  varieties,  though  there  has  been  no  change  either  in 
climate  or  in  food.  The  case  is  the  same  with  domestic 
pigeons.  But  even  supposing  that  the  most  general  features 
of  animal  colouring  could  be  explained  on  this  hypothesis — 
which  they  cannot  be — there  would,  still  remain  the  more 
remarkable  cases  of  tree-frogs,  which  resemble  bark,  and  of 
the  so-called  leaf-butterflies,  which  when  at  rest  are  indistin- 
guishable from  leaves ;  and  the  existence  of  such  cases  is  a 
stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  all  theories  save  the  theory  of 
natural  selection. 

For  according  to  the  theory  of  natural  selection  each  species 
of  animals  will  be  characterized  by  that  shade  of  colour  which 
is  most  advantageous  to  the  species  in  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence. Now,  as  Mr.  Wallace  observes,  "  concealment  is  useful 
to  many  animals,  and  absolutely  essential  to  some.  Those 
whicn  have  numerous  enemies  from  which  they  cannot  escape 
by  rapidity  of  motion,  find  safety  in  concealment.  Those 
which  prey  upon  others  must  also  be  so  constituted  as  not  to 
alarm  them  by  their  presence  or  their  approach,  or  they  would 
soon  die  of  hunger."  In  striking  harmony  with  this  general 
principle,  we  find  that  the  great  majority  of  a/iimals  are  so 
coloured  as  best  to  escape  notice,  and  that  animals  which  are 
not  protectively  coloured  are  animals  whose  habits  of  life  are 
Buch  as  to  enable  them  to  dispense  with  secrecy.     The  polar 


ai  COSMIC  FHILOSOPET,  [ft,  n. 

bear  is  white,  as  the  California  bear  is  grey  and  the  Hindustan 
bear  black,  because  with  a  coat  thus  coloured  it  can  best 
escape  notice  and  secure  its  prey.  The  polar  hare  has  a  per- 
manent coat  of  white  ;  but  the  alpine  hare,  the  arctic  fox,  ane 
the  ermine,  which  do  not  live  amid  perpetual  snow,  have 
coats  that  are  white  in  the  winter  only.  Arctic  owls,  falcons^ 
and  buntings  are  coloured  snowy  white ;  and  the  ptarmigan 
is  white  in  winter,  while  "  its  summer  plumage  so  exactly 
harmonizes  with  the  lichen-covered  stones  among  which  it 
delights  to  sit,  that  a  person  may  walk  through  a  flock  of 
them  without  seeing  a  single  birds"  In  the  sandy  deserts  of 
Northern  Africa,  all  birds,  without  exception,  all  snakes  and 
lizards,  and  all  the  smaller  mammals,  are  of  a  uniform  sandy 
colour.  The  camel  is  tinted  like  the  desert  in  which  he 
lives,  and  the  same  is  true  of  the  antelope  and  the  Australian 
kangaroo.  The  tawny  lion,  says  Mr.  Wallace,  "  is  a  typical 
example  of  this,  and  must  be  almost  invisible  when  crouched 
upon  the  sand  or  among  desert  rocks  and  stones."  His 
brother,  the  tiger,  "is  a  jungle  animal,  and  hides  himself 
among  tufts  of  grass  or  of  bamboos,  and  in  these  positions 
the  vertical  stripes  with  which  his  body  is  adorned  must  so 
assimilate  with  the  vertical  stems  of  the  bamboo,  as  to  assist 
greatly  in  concealing  him  from  his  approaching  prey.  How 
remarkable  it  is  that  besides  the  lion  and  tiger,  almost  all 
the  other  large  cats  are  arboreal  in  their  habits,  and  almost 
all  have  ocellated  or  spotted  skins,  which  must  certainly 
tend  to  blend  them  with  the  background  of  foliage;  while 
the  one  exception,  the  puma,  has  an  ashy  brown  uniform 
fur^  and  has  the  habit  of  clinging  so  closely  to  a  limb  of  a 
tree,  while  waiting  for  his  prey  to  pass  beneath,  as  to  be 
hardly  distinguishable  from  the  bark."^  Such  nocturnal 
animals  as  owls,  goat-s  ackers,  mice,  bats,  and  moles  are 
dusky-coloured.  In  tropical  forests,  where  the  trees  are  laden 
with  green  foliage  all  the  year  round,  we  find  brilliant  greea 

1  "Wallace,  Natural  Selection,  pp.  49,  53. 


BH.  X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION,  23 

pigeons  and  parrots ;  while  the  northern  snipe  resemhles  the 
marshy  vegetation  in  which  it  lives,  and  the  woodcock,  vith 
its  variegated  browns  and  yellows,  is  inconspicuous  among 
the  autumn  leaves.^  Arboreal  iguanas  are  tinted  leafy  green; 
and  out  of  many  species  of  tropical  tree-snakes  therp.  is  but 
one  which  is  not  green,  and  this  kind  conceals  it'^elt  during 
the  daytime  in  holes.  Flat  fish,  like  the  skate  and  flounder, 
are  coloured  like  the  gravel  beneath  them.  Fishes  which  live 
among  gorgeous  coral  reefs  are  magnificently  tinted.  The 
brilliant  red  hippocampi  of  Australia  dwell  among  sea- weed 
of  the  same  colour.  And  numerous  other  examples  from 
the  vertebrate  sub-kingdom  are  given  by  ]Mr.  Wallace,  from 
whose  remarkable  essay  the  examples  here  given  are  culled. 

Before  going  farther,  let  us  note  how  completely  these 
interesting  phenomena  are  in  harmony  with  the  theory  of 
natural  selection.  The  variability  of  the  hues  of  domestic 
animals  descended  from  a  monotonously-coloured  wild  species, 
shows  that  there  is  no  direct  physiological  necessity  for  the 
production  of  animals  of  a  single  given  style  of  colouring. 
But  it  is  tolerably  obvious  that  in  the  struggle  for  existence 
the  most  conspicuous  among  those  animals  which  serve  as 
food  for  others  will  be  the  soonest  detected,  killed,  and 
eaten;  while  in  general  the  most  conspicuous  carnivorous 
animals  will  be  the  most  easily  avoided,  and  hence  will  be 
the  most  likely  to  perish  for  lack  of  sustenance.  And  while 
it  is  not  universally  true  of  the  higher  animals,  as  it  is  of 
the  lower  animals  and  plants,  that  a  much  greater  number 
perish  than  survive,  the  destruction  of  life  is  nevertheless 
BO  great  that  the  fate  of  each  creature  must  often  depend 
upon  apparently  trivial  circumstances.  The  explanation 
would  therefore  be  satisfactory,  even  if  protective  shades 

•  The  general  principle  is  well  stated  by  Emerson,  in  tliis  pretty  q^uatrain ! 
**  He  took  the  colour  of  his  vest 
From  rabbit's  coat  and  grouse's  breas'l ; 
For  as  the  wild  kinds  lurk  and  hide, 
So  walka  the  hunldni,  in  unespieiL" 


84  COSMIC  PHILOSOFHT.  [pt.  il 

of  colouring   could  be  regarded  as  circumstances  of  slight 
importance, — wliicli  they  cannot. 

Since,  therefore,  it  is  natural  selection  which  keeps  up  the 
protective  hues  of  animals,  by  killing  off  all  save  the  least 
conspicuous  individuals,  we  may  understand  why  it  is  that 
animals  which  have  for  several  generations  been  domesticated 
no  longer  retain,  without  considerable  deviation,  their  pro- 
tective style  of  colouring.  Freed  from  the  exigencies  of  wild 
life,  there  is  no  longer  an  imperious  need  for  concealment, 
and  hence  the  unfavourably  coloured  individuals  survive  like 
the  rest,  and  variety  appears  among  members  of  the  same 
species.  In  the  cat  family,  which  appears  to  have  been 
originally  arboreal,  there  is  a  strong  tendency  to  the  produc- 
tion of  stripes  and  spots.  In  the  lion,  which  is  not  arboreal, 
and  in  the  puma,  owing  to  the  peculiarity  above  mentioned, 
these  variegated  markings  have  been  almost  wholly  weeded 
out  by  natural  selection.^  But  in  the  domestic  cat,  along 
with  these  spots  and  stripes  which  occasionally  show  its 
blood-relationship  with  the  leopard  and  tiger,  we  more  often 
meet  with  colours  not  paralleled  among  the  wild  species; 
now  and  then  we  see  cats  which  are  coal-black  or  snowy 
white.  Cows,  horses,  sheep,  dogs,  and  fowl,  furnish  parallel 
examples.  Thuc.  too  we  may  understand  why  the  sable  and 
the  Canadian  woodchuck  retain  their  brown  fur  during  the 
winter ;  for  the  one  can  subsist  on  berries,  and  is  far  more 
agile  than  any  of  its  foes,  while  the  other  lives  in  burrows 
by  the  riverside  and  catches  small  fish  that  swim  by  in  the 
water.  And  thus  we  may  understand  why  it  is  that  in  the 
case  of  birds  which  build  open  nests,  the  female  is  dull 
coloured  like  the  nest ;  while  on  the  other  hand,  the  females 
of  birds  which  build  domed  nests  are  often  as  brightly 
coloured  as  the  males. 

*  The  variegated  marking  nsually  appears,  however,  in  lion-cubs  ;  thua 
ihowing  that  the  variegated  colouring  of  the  leopard  and  tiger  is  relatively 
primary,  while  the  monotoDous  colouring  of  the  adult  lioa  u  lelatiTely 
secondary. 


OH.  jl]  NATVRAL  selection,  26 

Turning  now  to  the  insect  world,  we  find  a  vast  abundance 
of  corroborative  proof.  Among  the  tiger-beetles  examined 
by  Mr.  Wallace  in  tbe  Malay  islands,  those  which  lived  upon 
wet  mossy  stones  in  mountain  brooks  were  coloured  velvet 
green  ;  others,  found  for  the  most  part  on  dead  leaves  in  the 
forest,  were  brown  ;  others  again,  "  never  seen  except  on  the 
wet  mud  of  salt  marshes,  were  of  a  glossy  olive  so  exactly 
the  colour  of  the  mud  as  only  to  be  distinguished  when  the 
sun  shone,"  by  casting  a  shadow.  "  In  the  tropics  there  are 
thousands  of  species  of  insects  which  rest  during  the 
day  clinging  to  the  bark  of  dead  or  fallen  trees ;  and  the 
greater  portion  of  these  are  delicately  mottled  with  grey  and 
brown  tints,  which  though  symmetrically  disposed  and 
infinitely  varied,  yet  blend  so  completely  with  the  usual 
colours  of  the  bark,  that  at  two  or  three  feet  distance  they 
are  quite  indistinguishable."  Moths,  which  when  resting 
expose  the  upper  surfaces  of  their  wings,  have  these  dull- 
coloured.  Butterflies,  on  the  other  hand,  which  rest  with 
their  wings  raised  perpendicularly  and  laid  together  so  as 
to  show  only  the  under  surfaces,  have  the  upper  surfaces 
brilliantly  coloured,  while  the  exposed  under  surfaces  are 
dusky  and  inconspicuous,  or  even  marked  in  imitation  of 
leaves.  Mr.  Wallace  describes  an  East  Indian  butterfly 
whose  wings  are  superbly  tinted  with  blue  and  orange :  this 
butterfly  is  a  very  swift  flyer  and  is  never  known  to  settle 
save  among  the  dead  leaves  in  the  dry  forests  which  it 
frequents.  When  settled,  with  its  wings  raised,  it  imitates  a 
shrivelled  leaf  so  perfectly  that  even  the  keen  eye  of  the 
naturalist  can  hardly  detect  it.  This  protective  colouring  is 
found  throughout  the  whole  immense  order  to  which  belong 
",rasshoppers,  crickets,  and  locusts  ;  the  most  remarkable 
instance  being  furnished  by  the  so-caUed  "  walking-leaf,"  to 
which  no  description  can  do  justice.  On  the  other  hand, 
hornets,  bees,  and  wasps,  which  are  protected  by  their  stings, 
are  brilliantly  but  not  in  general  protectively  coloured.  Bugs 


16  COSMIC  FRILOSOfEY,  [ft.  u, 

and  ground-beetles  emit  a  disagreeable,  pungent  smell,  and 

they    are  often    conspicuously    coloured.      But  the    most 

wonderful  of  all  are  the  cases  of  protective  mimicry.     The 

heliconidse  are  among  the  most  beautiful  of  South  American 

butterflies.    Being  never  eaten  by  birds,  on  account  of  a 

nauseous  liquid  which  exudes  from  them  when  touched,  they 

are  not  only  very  lazy  Hyers,  but  have  the  under  sides  of  their 

wings  as  gorgeously  tinted  as  the  upper  side,  so  that  they 

can  be  seen  from  quite  a  long  distance.     From  the  same 

cause  they  are  prodigiously  numerous,  swarming  in  all  the 

tropical  forests.     Now  it  is  obvious  that  if  another  butterfly, 

not  protected  by   a  disagreeable   odour  or  taste,   were  to 

resemble  the  heliconia  in  colouring,  it  would  be  as  efiiciently 

protected  as  by  imitating  a  dead  leaf  or  dry  twig;  provided 

that  there  were  but  few  of  these  butterflies  among  a  large 

number  of   heliconias.     For,  as  Mr.  Wallace  says,  "if  the 

birds  could  not  distinguish  the  two  kinds  externally,  and  there 

were  on  the  average  only  one  eatable  among  fifty  uneatable, 

they  would  soon  give  up  seeking  for  the  eatable  ones,  even  if 

they  knew  them  to  exist."     Now  along  with  the  heliconidse 

there  does,  in  fact,  live  a  distinct  family  of  butterflies,  the 

pieridse,  most  of  which  are  white,  and  which  are  anatomically 

as   distinct  from  the  heliconidpe  as  a  lion  from  a  buffalo. 

But  of  these  pieridse  there  is  one  genus,  the  leptalis,  which 

exactly  resembles  the  heliconias  in  external  appearance.     So 

close  is  the  resemblance  that  such  expert  naturalists  as  Mr. 

Bates  and  Mr,  Wallace  have  been  repeatedly  deceived  by  it 

at  the  time  of  capture.     Moreover,  each  species  of  this  genus 

leptalis   is  a   copy  of  the   ;)articular   species   of  heliconia 

which  lives  in  the  same  district.     Every  band  and  sjDOt  and 

fleck  of  colour  in  the  heliconia  is  accurately  reproduced  in 

the  leptalis ;  and  besides  this,  the  lazy  mode  of  fliglit  is  also 

imitated.     While  in  point  of  numbers,  we  find  about  one 

leptalis  to  a  thousand   heliconias.      Nor   is   this   the  only 

instance.      So  pie-eminently  favoured   are   these   beautiful 


DH.  X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION,  27 

insects  by  tLeir  disgusting  taste,  that  tliey  are  exactly 
imitated  by  at  least  three  genera  of  diurnal  moths.  In  other 
parts  of  the  world  similar  phenomena  have  been  noticed. 
The  relationship  of  the  leptalis  to  the  heliconia  is  repeated 
in  India,  in  the  Philippine  Islands,  in  the  Malay  archipelago, 
and  in  various  parts  of  Africa ;  the  protected  insect  being, 
in  all  these  cases,  very  much  less  numerous  than  the  insect 
whose  colours  it  mimics.  In  similar  -wise,  bees  and  wasps 
are  often  imitated  by  beetles,  by  flies  and  even  by  moths. 
'^  For  further  details  I  must  refer  to  Mr.  Wallace's  essay, 
which  is  a  singularly  beautiful  specimen  of  inductive  reason- 
ing, The  facts  already  cited  are  quite  enough  to  sustain  the 
general  conclusion  that  the  colours  of  animals  are  in  the  main 
determined  by  the  exigencies  of  the  struggle  for  existence. 
Where  it  is  for  the  advantage  of  an  animal  to  be  concealed, 
as  in  the  great  majority  of  cases,  its  colour,  whether  brilliant 
or  sombre,  is  such  as  to  protect  it.  But  where  the  animal  is 
otherwise  adequately  protected — either  by  its  peculiar  habits, 
by  a  sting,  a  disgusting  odour  or  taste,  or  a  hard  carapace — 
and  where  it  is  not  needful  for  it  to  be  hidden  from  the  prey 
upon  which  it  feeds,  then  there  is  usually  no  reference  to 
protection  in  the  colour  of  the  animal.  In  some  of  these 
cases,  however,  a  very  conspicuous  colouring  becomes  pro- 
tective— as  in  the  case  of  the  jet-black  toad  which  Mr. 
Darwin  saw  in  La  Plata,  which  emitted  a  poisonous  secretion, 
ind  which,  when  crawling  over  the  sandy  plain,  could  not 
-ail  to  be  recognized  b}"-  every  passing  creature  as  an  object 
to  be  avoided. 

In  many  cases  the  gorgeous  tints  of  the  otherwise  protected 
male  animal  are  due  to  what  is  called  "  sexual  selection," — 
to  the  continual  selection  of  the  more  beautiful  males  by  the 
females.  To  this  cause  is  due  the  magnificent  plumage  of 
the  male  bird  of  paradise ;  and  Mr.  Darwin  would  similarly 
explain  the  brilliant  colours  of  many  male  butterflies.  In 
hia  work  on  the  "Descent  of  Man  "  may  be  found  an  account 


28  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHT.  [pt.  ii 

of  the  elaT3orate  observations  which  have  led  to  these  con- 
clusions. "Without  feeling  it  necessary  to  insist  upon  the 
validity  of  all  the  special  explanations  contained  in  that 
work,  we  must  admit  that  the  general  theory  is  substantiated 
by  a  superabundance  of  inductive  evidence.  And  wlien  Ihia 
kind  of  selection  is  taken  in  connection  with  the  need  foi 
protective  concealment,  we  have  the  means  of  explaining  by 
far  the  greater  part  of  the  colouring  found  in  the  animal 
kingdom. 

The  colours  of  the  vegetal  kingdom  have,  to  a  considerable 
extent,  been  no  less  satisfactorily  explained.  "Flowers  do 
not  often  need  protection,  but  very  often  require  the  aid  of 
insects  to  fertilize  them,  and  maintain  their  reproductive 
powers  in  the  greatest  vigour.  Their  gay  colours  attract 
insects,  as  do  also  their  sweet  odours  and  honeyed  secretions; 
and  that  this  is  the  main  function  of  colour  in  flowers  is 
shown  by  the  striking  fact  that  those  plants  which  can  be 
perfectly  fertilized  by  the  wind,  and  do  not  need  the  aid  of 
insects,  rarely  or  never  have  gaily-coloured  flowers."^ 

Eeturning  for  one  moment  to  the  case  of  animals,  which 
are  usually  benefited  by  concealment  but  sometimes  by 
conspicuousness,  let  us  note  Prof.  Shaler's  ingenious  explana- 
tion of  the  rattlesnake's  rattle.  The  existence  of  this 
appendage  has  long  been  a  puzzle  to  philosophical  naturalists, 
and  Darwinians  have  been  repeatedly  challenged  to  account 
for  the  formation  or  preservation  by  natural  selection  of  an 
organ  assumed  to  be  injurious  to  the  species.  The  difficulty 
has  lain  in  the  assumption,  too  hastily  made,  that  the  noise 
of  the  rattle  must  be  prejudicial  to  the  snake  by  fore- 
warning its  enemies  or  prey  of  its  presence,  and  thua 
eiviuCT  the  enemies  time  for  sudden  attack,  and  allowin2 
the  prey  to  escape.  On  the  theory  of  natural  selection,  the 
preservation  of  the  species  must  entail  the  atrophy  of  such 
an  organ,  or,  rather,  must  prevent  its  origination,  unless  the 
*  Wallace,  Natural  Selection,  p.  262. 


CH.  X.-  NATURAL  SELECTION:  29 

damage  occAsioned  by  it  be  more  than  compensated  by  some 
utility  not  hitherto  detected.  Prof.  Shaler's  hypothesis,  how- 
ever, suggests  the  possibility  that  this  whole  speculation  is 
fundamentally  erroneous.  Far  from  being  injurious  to  the 
snake,  by  serving  to  warn  its  prey,  it  would  appear  that  the 
rattle  may  be  directly  useful  by  serving  as  a  decoy.  Prof. 
Shaler  has  observed  that  the  peculiar  sound  of  the  rattle  is  a 
very  close  imitation  of  the  note  emitted  by  a  certain  cicada 
common  in  American  forests  frequented  by  rattlesnakes;  and 
according  to  his  ingenious  suggestion,  the  bird,  hearing  the 
note  and  thinking  to  make  a  meal  of  the  cicada,  advances 
upon  its  own  destruction,  becoming  the  eaten  instead  of  the 
eater.  If  this  be  true,  there  may  be  data  here  for  explaining 
some  of  the  alleged  phenomena  of  fascination,  so  far  as 
rattlesnakes  are  concerned ;  and  another  case  will  be  added 
to  the  numerous  cases  now  on  record  in  which  certain 
animals  have  acquired,  for  utility's  sake,  peculiarities  charac- 
teristic of  totally  different  species.  I  should  be  more  inclined, 
however,  to  adopt  quite  a  different  interpretation  of  the 
rattlesnake's  rattle.  As  hinted  above,  the  general  law  that 
animals  are  benefited  by  concealment  has  some  important 
exceptions.  In  many  cases,  when  an  animal  is  especially 
noxious,  it  is  for  his  advantage  to  be  conspicuous,  that 
enemies  may  recognize  him  at  a  distance  and  keep  away 
from  him.  Thus,  as  we  have  seen,  while  grasshoppers,  moths, 
tnd  butterflies  (on  the  exposed  under-surfaces  of  their  wings) 
are  usually  so  coloured  as  best  to  escape  notice,  on  the  other 
hand,  bees  and  wasps,  which  are  protected  by  their  stings, 
and  many  beetles,  which  are  protected  by  a  noxious  taste  or 
odour,  are  apt  to  be  conspicuously  coloured.  And  the  jet- 
black  toad  of  La  Plata  is  a  still  better  example.  Now  a 
i.'attlesnake  is  unquestionably  a  very  noxious  animal,  and  so 
dangerous  to  its  enemies  that  they  will  always  do  well  to 
keep  out  of  its  way.  Moreover,  the  death-wound  inflicted 
by  it,  though  usually  very  sure,  is  somewhat  slow  in  operation; 


30  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHT.  [pT.  n. 

so  that  in  a  fierce  struggle  it  Yv'ill  often  happen  that  its  action 
is  not  prompt  enough  to  preclude  a  return  of  conopliments 
fatal  to  the  snake.  When  a  tiger  tears  open  the  jugular  vein 
of  his  enemy,  the  enemy  is  placed  hors  de  combat  at  once ; 
but  when  the  rattlesnake  has  bitten,  there  is  nothing  to 
prevent  the  foe  from  employing  his  few  remaining  momenta 
in  tearing  the  serpent  to  pieces.  Hence  the  rattlesnake 
must  he  peculiarly  benefited  by  an  apparatus  which  serves 
as  a  signal  to  warn  enemies  of  his  presence,  and  to  keep 
them  from  attacking  him.  His  more  formidable  enemies, 
belonging  chiefly  to  the  mammalian  class,  are  certainly 
intelhgent  enough  to  profit  by  such  warning  and  shun  the 
danger ;  and  as  it  is  plainly  for  the  snake's  advantage  to 
avoid  even  a  conflict,  it  is  cleai^  that  he  is  practically  helped 
even  less  by  his  terrible  bite  than  by  his  power  of 
threatening  a  bite. 

This  explanation  seems  to  me  quite  sound  in  principle. 
Yet  if  we  adopt  it,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  us  from  giving 
due  weight  also  to  Prof.  Shaler's  suggestion.  The  success 
with  which  the  note  of  the  cicada  is  counterfeited  by  the 
rattle  is  a  point  to  be  more  fully  determined  by  further 
■)bservation.  And  if  it  turiis  out  that  the  rattle  fulfiiS  the 
double  purpose  of  alarming  sundry  animals  that  are  hostile 
and  of  enticing  sundry  others  that  are  good  for  food,  it  will 
not  be  the  first  case  in  which  it  has  happened  that  a  structure 
useful  in  one  way  has  also  become  useful  in  another  way. 
The  question  is  an  interesting  one,  and  valuable  if  only 
because  it  reminds  us  of  the  danger  of  reasoning  too  con- 
fidently,  from  d  priori  premises,  about  matters  the  due 
elucidation  of  which  requires  careful  study  of  the  details  of 
the  every-day  life  of  animals.  It  is  one  of  the  great  merits 
of  the  theory  of  natural  selection  that  it  has  directed  so  many 
naturalists,  with  eyes  open,  into  this  fruitful  field  of  inquiry. 

It  is  because  it  so  well  illustrates  the  wealth  of  su^i^estive- 
nesa  in  Mr.  Darwin's  theory,  that  I  have  ventured  upon  thi? 


CH  X.]  NATURAL  SELECTION,  81 

digression.  To  the  general  validity  of  that  theory,  or  even 
to  the  validity  of  the  more  special  hypothesis  coucerninEj  the 
uses  of  concealment  or  of  conspicuousness,  the  success  o.  the 
foregoing  explanation  is  not  essential, — since  its  possible 
inadequacy  may  very  well  he  due  to  the  incompleteness  of 
onr  grasp  upon  all  the  details  of  this  particular  case.  But, 
returning  from  this  digression  to  our  main  thesis,  and  con- 
sidering the  general  significance  of  the  phenomena  of  colour, 
we  see  that,  in  addition  to  those  most  general  phenomena  of 
organic  life  which  demand  for  their  explanation  the  Dar- 
winian theory,  there  is  at  least  one  special  class  of  pheno- 
mena which  that  theory  is  competent  to  explain  even  in 
minute  details.  And  there  are  other  special  classes  of 
phenomena  to  which  it  has  been  applied  with  equally  re- 
markable success.  But  when  a  theory,  deduced  from  the 
observed  general  facts  of  organic  life,  and  invoking  no 
agencies  but  such  as  are  known  to  be  in  operation,  is  found 
on  trial  to  account  for  such  an  enormous  mass  of  special 
facts,  for  which  no  other  valid  explanation  has  been  pro- 
pounded,— we  may  well  say  of  it,  as  Laplace  said  of  his  own 
Nebular  Hypothesis,  that  the  chances  in  favour  of  its  being 
&  true  explanation  are  many  tliousand  millioo  to  one. 


CHAPTER  XI 

TWO   OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED. 

When  an  oTDJection  to  a  complex  theory  in  any  department 
of  science  is  so  extremely  obvious  as  to  seem  at  first  sight 
fatal  to  the  theory,  it  is  unwise  to  urge  it  in  argument  until 
we  have  very  thoroughly  considered  the  matter.  Men  like 
Laplace  and  Goethe,  Spencer  and  Darwin,  in  framing  their 
theories  of  evolution,  are  indeed  liable  to  overlook  difficulties 
which  are  so  unobtrusive  as  to  be  detected  only  after  pro- 
longed observation ;  but  they  are  very  unlikely  to  overlook 
difficulties  which  are  so  conspicuous  as  to  occur  at  once  to 
the  minds  of  a  hundred  general  readers.  When,  therefore,  a 
reader  of  average  culture,  who  has  perhaps  never  seriously 
bent  his  mind  to  the  question  of  the  origin  of  species,  and 
who  is  very  likely  unacquainted  with  the  sciences  which 
throw  light  upon  that  subject,  finds  himself  immediately 
confronted  by  difficulties  in  a  theory  which  men  of  the 
highest  learning  and  capacity  have  spent  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury in  testing,  common  prudence  should  lead  him  to  con- 
tinue his  study  until  he  has  made  sure  that  the  difficulty  ia 
not  due  to  his  own  ignorance  rather  than  to  the  shortcomings 
of  the  theory.  This  wholesome  caution  is  too  seldom  mani- 
fested by  literary  reviewers,  many  of  whom,  in  criticizing 
Mr.  Darwin's  theory  without  having  duly  read  his  worlca 


CH.  XI.]  TWO  OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED.  33 

allege  certain  objections  as  being  quite  obvious  to  all  intelli- 
gent people,  save  to  the  one-sided  speculator  who  is  supposed 
to  have  ignored  them.  In  INIr.  Darwin's  case,  this  mode  of 
treatment  is  peculiarly  impertinent,  since  even  the  less  ob- 
vious objections  to  the  theory  of  natural  selection  were  for 
the  most  part  foreseen  and  answered  in  the  first  edition  of 
the  "  Origin  of  Species," — a  book  to  which,  as  to  an  arsenal 
of  scientific  facts,  one  must  still  resort  who  would  deal  intel- 
ligently with  the  latest  criticisms  directed  against  the  theory. 

The  most  obvious  objection  to  the  Darwinian  theory  is  the 
paucity,  or,  as  it  is  often  incorrectly  alleged,  the  absence,  of 
transitional  forms  in  the  various  sedimentary  strata.  This  is 
at  first  sight  a  weighty  objection  against  the  doctrine  of  natural 
selection,  according  to  which  the  progress  has  been  effected 
by  infinitesimal  increments  ;  although  it  is  of  no  force  against 
the  doctrine  of  derivation,  as  held  by  Mr.  Mivart,  who 
rejects  the  maxim  Natura  non  facit  saltum,  and  maintains 
that  progress  has  been  effected  by  sudden  jumps,  occurring 
at  rhythmical  intervals.  Mr.  Mivart's  suggestion,  however, 
cannot  be  entertained  as  a  scientific  hypothesis  so  long  as  it 
alleges  no  physical  agencies  competent  to  effect  the  sudden 
jumps  from  one  specific  form  to  another ;  nor  does  the  com- 
parative paucity  of  transitional  forms  in  a  fossil  state  afford 
any  reason  for  our  adopting  it.  A  brief  consideration  will 
show  us  that  the  fact  is  entirely  consistent  with  the  theory 
of  progress  by  minute  variations. 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  note  that  in  general  intermediate 
transitional  forms  must  be  the  soonest  killed  off  in  the 
struggle  for  existence;  and  that,  especially,  where  two 
strains  or  varieties  become  further  differentiated  into  true 
species,  it  is  the  extreme  forms  which  multiply  at  the 
expense  of  those  which  are  intercalated  betweeii  them. 
Here,  as  on  a  former  occasion,  cur  comprehension  of  the 
argument  will  be  facilitated  by  a  reference  to  the  analogous 
set  of  phenomena  which  occur  during  the  process  of  lin- 

VOL.  II.  D 


34  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.  ii. 

guistic  differentiation.     It  is  held  by  most  philologists  that 
all    languages    in   the    tertiary   or    amalgamative   stage    of 
development  must  have  previously  existed  in  the  secondary 
or  agglutinative  stage, — and,  at  a  yet  earlier  period,  in  the 
primary  or  juxtapositive  stage,  of  which  the  Chinese  is  a 
still  living  example.     Against  this  view  M.  Eenan  has  urged 
the  absence  or  paucity  of  transitional  forms  connecting  one 
class  of  languages   with   another.      Now   in   answering  M. 
Eenan's  objection,  I  have  begun  by  showing,  from  a  con- 
sideration  of  the   Eomanic   dialects,  that  the  difficulty  la 
only  imaginary.      "  A  language  like  Latin,  spread   over  a 
vast   space   of  country  in   imperfectly  civilized  times,  in- 
evitably breaks  up  into  a  host  of  local  patois.    Each  secluded 
rustic  community  has  its   own  style   of  pronunciation,  its 
own  choice  of  words  and  syntactical  devices,  its  own  method 
of  contracting  or  otherwise  modifying  its  expressions.     And 
although  the  inhabitants  of   any  given  town   can  usually 
communicate    with    those    of    the    next    town,    the   slight 
differences   accumulate    until  intercourse    between    distant 
places  is  no  longer  practicable.     In  such  a  state  of  things 
we  find  plenty  of  transitional  dialects,  as  the  Genoese  and 
Proven9al    between   Italian   and  French,  and  the   Balearic 
and  Catalan  between  French  and  Spanish.     The  Tuscan  can 
understand  the  Genoese,  the  Genoese  can  understand   the 
dweller  in  Piedmont,  the  Piedmontese  can  understand  the 
Vaudois,  the  Vaudois   can  understand  the   Lyonnais,   and 
so  on  until  we  come  to  Paris  ;    but  the  Tuscan   and  the 
Parisian  cannot  understand  each  other.     Now  the  progress 
of  civilization  in  each  country  tends  to  kiU  out  the  patois, 
elevating  that  variety  of  the  language  which  has  been  made 
the  vehicle  of  the  dominant  literature  to  supremacy  over 
the   more  provincial  forms.      Increased   facilities   of   com- 
munication, and  the  growth  of  large  centres  of  population, 
and  commercial  as  well  as  literary  activity,  end  by  making 
the  inhabitants  of  all  parts  of  the  country  speak  and  ^vrit6 


CH.  xi.j  TfFO  OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED*  35 

more  and  more  like  those  of  its  intellectual  metropolis. 
And  in  this  way  the  intermediate  dialects  slowly  disappear, 
leaving  two  languages  with  thoroughly  distinct  individuali- 
ties, like  Italian  and  French."^  ISTow  even  here,  as  I  go 
on  to  show,  the  relationships  among  the  dialects  have 
become  sufhciently  obscured — owing  to  disappearance  of 
connecting  links — to  allow  M.  Eaynouard  to  maintain  the 
paradox  that  the  modern  Eomanic  languages  are  descended, 
not  directly  from  the  Latin,  but  from  the  old  Proven9al. 
And  in  such  countries  as  Hindustan,  the  processes  of  di- 
vergence, and  accompanying  obliteration,  have  gone  on  to 
such  an  extent  that  Bengali  has  been  mistaken  for  a  non- 
Aryan  language. 

Here  in  the  domain  of  language  we  see  that  competition 
is  most  severe  and  destructive  between  closely  allied  forms, 
and  that  the  extremes  will  vigorously  flourish  long  after  the 
short-lived  means  have  been  crushed  out  of  existence.  The 
maxim  In  medio  iufissimus  ibis  does  not  apply  to  such  cases. 
We  have  now  to  observe  that  among  the  phenomena  which 
natural  history  deals  with,  a  quite  similar  process  goes  on. 
First  we  may  note,  with  ]Mr.  Darwin,  that  "  as  the  species 
of  the  same  genus  usually  have,  though  by  no  means  in- 
variably, much  similarity  in  habits  and  constitution,  and 
always  in  structure,  the  struggle  will  generally  be  more 
severe  between  them,  if  they  come  into  competition  with 
each  other,  than  between  the  species  of  distinct  genera. 
We  see  this  in  the  recent  extension  over  parts  of  the  United 
States  of  one  species  of  swallow  having  caused  the  decrease 
of  another  species.  The  recent  increase  of  the  missel- 
thnish  in  parts  of  Scotland  has  caused  the  decrease  of  the 
song-thrush.  How  frequently  we  hear  of  one  species  of  rat 
taking  the  place  of  another  species  under  the  most  different 
climates !     In  Russia  the  small  Asiatic  cockroach  has  every- 

*  "The  Genesis  of  Language,     North  American  Eew'-ew,  Oct.  1869,  pp 
334,  335. 

D   2 


36  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHI,  [pt.  ii. 

where  driven  "before  it  its  great  congener.  In  Australia  the 
imported  hive-bee  is  rapidly  exterminating  the  small  stmg- 
less  native  bee.  One  species  of  charlock  has  been  known 
to  supplant  another  species ;  and  so  in  other  cases.  We  can 
dimly  see  why  the  competition  should  be  most  severe 
between  allied  forms,  which  fill  nearly  the  same  place  in 
the  economy  of  nature ;  but  probably  in  no  one  case  could 
we  precisely  say  why  one  species  has  been  victorious  over 
another  in  the  great  battle  of  life."  ^ 

For  our  present  purpose,  however,  it  is  not  needful  that 
we  should  be  able  to  accomplish  the  latter  task,  which  v/ould 
require  a  knowledge  of  the  minutise  of  the  organic  world 
such  as  is  not  likely  to  be  possessed  by  anyone  for  a  long 
time  to  come.     It  is  enough  for  us  to  note  that  the  ordinary 
process  of  competition,  among  organisms  as  among  dialects, 
tends  to  kill  out  the  means  much  sooner  than  the  extremes. 
Still  more  clear  will  this  become,  if  we  recur  to  one  of  the 
hypothetical  illustrations   given  in   the   preceding   chapter. 
It  was  there  shown  that,  in  the  case  of  a  group  of  ruminants 
hitherto  isolated  from  carnivorous  foes,  and  in  which  different 
strains  or  varieties  have  begun  to  establish   themselves,    a 
newly-arriving  incident  force,  in  the  shape  of  strong  and 
swift  carnivora,  will  at  once  tend   to   exterminate   all  the 
intermediate   forms,  while  the  extremes  will  not   only  be 
indefinitely  preserved,  but   will  become   yet  more   widely 
different  from  each  other.     Now  this  hypothetical  case  is 
probably  a  fair  sample  of  a  very  large  proportion — perhaps 
the  majority — of  the  cases  in  which  specific  variations  have 
been  rapidly  accumulated  and  persistently  fixed.     It  is  by 
no  means  likely  that  variation  has  gone  on  throughout  the 
oast  with  a  uniform  pace ;  but  there  must  rather  have  been 
immensely  long  periods    of    comparative    stability,   alter- 
nating with  relatively  brief  periods,  during  which  newly- 
'ntroduced  sets  of   circumstances  have  tended  to  enhance 
*  Origin  of  Species,  6th  edit.,  p;  6W. 


CH.  XI.]  TWO  OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED.  37 

and  accumulate  variations  on  either  side  of  a  hitherto 
established  mean.  Such  a  conclusion  is  implied  by  the 
theory  of  natural  selection,  according  to  which  specific  vari- 
ation occurs,  not  in  conformity  to  some  mysterious  law 
of  progress  uniformly  operating,  but  only  in  conformity 
to  some  more  or  less  conspicuous  alteration  in  the  sum- 
total  of  the  conditions  of  existence. 

It  follows,  therefore,  that  in  general,  when  incipient 
varieties  are  differentiated  into  well-marked  species,  the 
number  of  intermediate  forms  must  be  immeasurably  smaller 
than  tlie  numbers  of  forms  contained  in  the  resulting  species 
to  which  they  serve  as  the  transition.  During  epochs  of 
rapid  divergence,  the  means  may  all  be  extinguished  after  a 
few  hundred  generations,  while  the  generations  of  the  ex- 
tremes which  persist  thereafter  may  be  numbered  by  tens  of 
thousands.  Suppose,  for  example,  two  great  islands  sepa- 
rated by  a  shallow  sea.  During  long  ages,  while  the  floor  of 
this  intervening  sea  is  constantly  rising,  the  specific  changes 
occurring  on  either  island  may  be  quite  few  and  unimportant, 
and  such  fossil  records  as  are  left  will  indicate  a  general  per- 
sistence of  type.  But  when  in  course  of  time  the  process  of 
elevation  has  converted  this  intervening  channel  into  an 
isthmus  connecting  the  two  islands,  there  must  inevitably 
ensue  a  marked  change  in  the  conditions  of  existence  in 
both  regions.  Extinction  will  go  on  at  a  relatively  rapid 
pace;  and,  as  above  illustrated,  this  extinction  must  ordi- 
narily result  in  the  disappearance  of  intermediate  forms  and 
the  preservation  of  extremes.  After  a  while  this  process 
must  result  in  the  establishment  of  an  approximate  equili- 
brium among  the  forms  of  life  over  both  areas,  such  as 
formerly  obtained  over  each  area  separately.  And  thus  for  a 
long  time  to  come,  the  specific  changes  occurring  will  again 
be  few  and  unimportant. 

Thus  we  see  graphically  illustrated  the  truth  that,  in  com- 
parison  with  the  myriads  of  individuals  comprising  the  well- 


38  COSMIC  PHILOSOPMY.  [pt.  iL 

defined  species  which  propagate  themselves  through  long 
ages  with  relative  stability  of  character,  the  number  of  inter- 
mediate individuals  which  ever  come  into  existence  must  be 
relatively  small.  We  liave  next  to  note  that,  even  of  this 
relatively  small  number  of  individuals,  a  still  smaller  rela- 
tive number  are  likely  to  leave  after  death  a  permanent  fossil 
record  of  their  existence. 

In  the  first  place  it  is  only  by  a  rare  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances that  any  plant  or  animal  gets  fossilized  at  all. 
The  chances  were  nearly  infinite  against  the  preservation  o! 
any  of  the  very  earliest  organisms,  with  their  soft  and  speedily 
decaying  textures.  The  higher  land  animals,  on  the  other 
hand,  owe  their  occasional  preservation  to  the  accidents  of 
dying  in  sheltered  caves,  or  of  being  covered  with  blown 
sand  or  peat-moss,  or  of  being  frozen  in  Arctic  ice.  Trees 
with  solid  trunks,  littoral  and  marine  animals,  especially 
crustaceans  and  shell-covered  mollusks,  are  more  likely  to  be 
preserved  than  other  organisms.  But,  in  the  second  place, 
the  majority  of  the  organisms  once  fossilized  are  afterwards 
destroyed  along  with  the  sedimentary  strata  which  contain 
them.  Since  there  have  been  several  enormously  long  alter- 
nating periods  of  elevation  and  of  subsidence,  it  follows  that 
all  the  older  sedimentary  strata  must  have  been  metamor- 
phosed by  volcanic  heat.  These  oldest  rocks  have  sunk  to  a 
depth  of  six  or  eight  miles,  down  below  the  ocean-floor, 
where  they  have  been  metamorphosed  by  the  heat  of  the 
molten  liquid  below,  and  whence  they  have  again  been  slowly 
shoved  up  above  water-level,  with  all  traces  of  their  organic 
contents  obliterated.  This  process  must  have  occurred  so 
many  times  as  to  have  destroyed  all  but  the  later  records  of 
life.  The  title  "  palaeozoic,"  formerly  applied  to  the  Silurian 
rocks,  is  a  misnomer.  It  was  formerly  supposed  that  there 
were  no  fossil-bearing  rocks  below  the  Silurian.  But  within 
a  few  years  the  Cambrian  and  Laurentian  strata  have  been 
discovered,  carrying  us  back  into  an  antiquity  nearly  twice  as 


CH,  XI.]  TIVO  OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED.  39 

great  as  that  to  which  we  had  reached  with  the  Silurian 
rocks ;  and  it  is  now  generally  admitted  tliat  even  the 
Lanrentian  strata  are  modern  compared  with  the  beginnings 
of  life  upon  our  globe. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Along  v/ith  the  immensely  long 
geologic  rhythms,  which  have  thus  entailed  the  periodic 
metamorphosis  of  strata,  there  have  been  going  on  minor 
rhythms,  resulting  in  the  alternate  deposit  and  denudation  of 
fossil-bearing  strata.  Each  of  the  sedimentary  strata  now 
surviving  was  deposited  during  an  epoch  of  subsidence,  and 
since  its  elevation  to  its  present  position  has  been  more  or 
less  denuded.  Now  it  is  only  during  epochs  of  subsidence 
that  permanent  fossil-bearing  strata  can  be  deposited.  During 
epochs  of  elevation  the  newly-formed  sedimentary  deposit  is 
rapidly  disintegrated  by  the  action  of  coast-waves ;  and  even 
those  thin  deposits  which  are  made  during  an  epoch  of  sub- 
sidence are  in  the  next-recurring  epoch  of  elevation  soon 
worn  away.  It  is  thus  only  the  thicker  strata  deposited 
during  an  epoch  of  subsidence  which  have  preserved  for  our 
inspection  a  few  specimens  of  the  organisms  living  at  the 
time  when  they  were  deposited. 

But  in  close  juxtaposition  to  this  comes  the  remarkable 
fact  that  the  most  rapid  variation  among  specific  forms  must 
take  place  during  epochs  of  elevation.  For  since  the  only 
variations  preserved  by  natural  selection  are  those  which 
bring  the  orgaiiism  into  closer  adaptation  to  its  environment ; 
and  since  in  most  cases  the  organic  environment  of  any  group 
of  organisms,  comprising  its  enemies,  competitors,  and  prey, 
is  a  much  more  important  factor  of  change  than  its  inorganic 
environment,  comprising  climate  and  soil ;  it  follows  that 
those  periods  during  which  groups  of  organisms,  hitherto 
isolated,  are  gradually  brought  into  contact  with  one  another, 
must  be  the  periods  most  favourable  for  specific  change.  The 
most  rapid  variation,  attended  by  the  greatest  frequency  of 
transitional  forms,  will  therefore  occur  during  those  epochs  of 


40  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii. 

elevation  wben  archipelagos  are  being  converted  into  con- 
tinents, and  when  shallow  parts  of  the  sea,  hitherto  divided 
by  deep  channels,  are  getting  practically  united  together  by 
the  diminishing  depth  of  the  channel.  During  such  periods 
it  is  not  only  the  inorganic  agencies  of  climate  and  soil 
which  will  be  altered  ;  the  organic  environment  of  each 
group  of  organisms  will  be  immensely  increased  in  extent 
and  heterogeneity.  The  struggle  for  existence  will  increase 
in  violence,  and  there  will  be  an  increased  amount  both  of 
variation  and  of  extinction. 

We  are  thus  driven  to  the  remarkable  conclusion,  not  only 
that  each  system  of  fossiliferous  strata  now  remaining  has 
been  preceded  and  followed  by  systems  destroyed  as  fast  as 
they  were  formed,  but  also  that  the  systems  thus  destroyed 
coincided  with  the  periods  which  must  have  been  richest  in 
transitional  forms. 

But  notwithstanding  the  extreme  imperfection  of  the  geold- 
gical  record,  and  notwithstanding  these  special  difficulties  in 
thje  way  of  finding  transitional  forms,  such  forms  are  frequently 
met  with.  Indeed  it  may  be  asserted,  as  one  of  the  most 
significant  truths  of  palseontology,  that  extinct  forms  are 
almost  always  intercalary  between  forms  now  existing.  Xot 
only  species,  genera,  and  families,  but  even  orders  of  con- 
temporary animals,  apparently  quite  distinct,  are  now  and 
then  fused  together  by  the  discovery  of  extinct  intermediate 
forms.  In  Cuvier's  time,  horse,  tapir,  pig,  and  rhinoceros 
were  ranked  as  a  distinct  order  from  cow,  sheep,  deer,  buffalo, 
and  camel.  But  so  many  transitional  forms  have  been  found 
in  tertiary  strata  that  pachyderms  and  ruminants  are  now 
united  in  a  single  order.  By  numerous  connecting  links  the 
pig  is  now  seen  to  be  closely  united  with  the  camel  and 
the  antelope.  Similar  results  relating  to  the  proboscidians, 
the  hyaena  family  of  carnivora,  the  apes,  the  horse,  and  the 
rhinoceros,  have  been  obtained  from  the  exploration  of  a 
single  locality  near  Mount  Pentelikos  in  Greece.     Among 


CH.  XL]  TPyV  OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED.  41 

more  than  seventy  species  there  discovered,  the  gradational 
arrangement  of  forms  was  so  strongly  marked,  that  the  great 
palaeontologist,  M.  Gaudry,  became  a  convert  to  Mr.  Darwin's 
theory  in  the  course  of  the  search.^  Referring  for  many 
more  svich  examples  to  the  last  edition  of  Sir  Charles  Lyell's 
"  Principles  of  Geology,"  let  me  further  observe  that  there 
has  as  yet  been  but  little  search  for  fossils  save  in  Europe 
and  North  America,  and  even  these  areas  have  by  no  means 
been  thoroughly  .explored.  Concerning  South  America  much 
less  is  known,  and  the  greater  portions  of  Asia,  Africa,  and 
Australia  are  just  so  much  terra  incognita  to  the  palaeon- 
tologist. As  M.  Gaudry  observes,  a  few  strokes  of  the  pick- 
axe at  the  foot  of  Mount  Pentelikos  have  revealed  to  us  the 
closest  connecting  links  between  forms  which  seemed  before 
very  widely  separated :  far  closer  will  such  links  be  drawn 
when  a  considerable  portion  of  the  earth's  surface  shall  have 
been  thoroughly  investigated. 

The  argument  from  "missing  links,"  therefore,  in  so  far 
as  it  has  any  validity  at  all,  is  an  argument  which  rests  en- 
tirely upon  negative  evidence.  But  negative  evidence,  as 
everyone  knows,  is  a  very  unsafe  basis  for  argument.^    A 

*  "We  may  also  profitably  consider  the  toxodon,  found  by  Mr.  Darwin  in 
Soutli  America,  -which  is  "  one  of  the  strangest  animals  ever  discovered.  In 
size  it  equalled  an  elephant  or  megatherium,  but  the  structure  of  its  teeth,  as 
Mr,  Owen  states,  proves  indisputably  that  it  was  intimately  related  to  the 
Gnawers,  the  order  which  at  the  present  day  includes  most  of  the  smallest 
quadrupeds  :  in  many  details  it  is  allied  to  the  pachydermata  :  judging  from 
the  position  of  its  eyes,  ears,  and  nostrils,  it  was  probably  aquatic,  like  the 
dugong  and  manatee,  to  which  it  is  also  allied.  How  wonderfully,"  says 
Mr.  Darwin,  "  are  ihe  different  orders,  at  the  present  time  so  well  separated, 
blended  together  in  different  points  of  the  structure  of  the  toxodon  ! " — 
Darwin,  V'Xyage  of  the  Beagle,  p.  82,  Compare  the  remarks  on  the  quaternary 
fauna  of  "Western  Europe  in  Sir  John  Lubbock's  Prehistoric  Times,  2nd 
edition,  pp.  296-298. 

'  "  For  instance,  the  several  species  of  the  chthamalinse  (a  sub-family  ol 
sessile  cirrhipeds)  coat  the  rocks  all  over  the  world  in  infinite  numbers  :  they 
are  all  strictly  littoral,  with  the  exception  of  a  single  Mediterranean  species, 
which  inhabits  deep  water,  and  this  has  been  found  fossil  in  Sicily,  whereas 
not  one  other  species  has  hitherto  been  found  in  any  tertiary  formation  :  yet 
it  is  known  that  the  genus  chthamalus  existed  during  the  Chalk  period-" — 
Darwin,  Origin  of  Specus,  6th  edit.,  p.  271. 


49  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  \yT.  ii. 

single  item  of  positive  evidence  will  always  outweigh  any 
amount  of  negative  evidence.  A  single  case  in  which  two 
or  three  species  or  genera  are  demonstrably  connected  with 
each  other  through  lineally  intermediate  forms,  is  enough 
to  outweigh  the  case  of  a  thousand  species  or  genera  in 
which  no  such  linear  connection  has  yet  been  demonstrated. 
Now  there  can  be  no  question  that  Equus,  Ilipparion,  and 
Anchitherium,  are  quite  distinct  genera;  and  a  comparison 
of  the  skeletons  of  the  three  leaves  it  equally  unquestion- 
able that  the  hipparion  is  simply  a  more  ancient  horse,  and 
that  the  anchitherium  is  simply  a  more  ancient  hipparion.  As 
Prof.  Huxley  observes,  "  the  process  by  which  Anchitherium 
has  been  converted  into  Equus  is  one  of  specialization,  or 
of  more  and  more  complete  deviation  from  what  might  be 
called  the  average  form  of  an  ungulate  mammal.  In  the 
horses,  the  reduction  of  some  parts  of  the  limbs,  together 
with  the  special  modification  of  these  which  are  left,  is 
carried  to  a  greater  extent  than  in  any  other  hoofed  mam- 
mals. The  reduction  is  less  and  the  specialization  is  less 
in  the  hipparion,  and  still  less  in  the  anchitherium ;  but 
yet,  as  compared  with  other  mammals,  the  reduction  and 
specialization  of  parts  in  the  anchitherium  remain  great."  ^ 
But  as  we  go  back  still  farther  into  the  Eocene  epoch,  we 
find  Plagiolophus,  a  genus  intermediate  between  the  horse 
and  the  agouti,  in  which  the  reduction  and  specialization 
of  parts  is  still  less.  Here,  where  the  exploration  has 
been  relatively  complete,  the  intermediate  forms  are  so 
numerous  as  to  leave  no  doubt  whatever  as  to  the  genetic 
kinship.^    And  similarly  of  the  rhinocerotidae  and  hyaenidse 

1  Critiques  avd  Addresses,  p.  195, 

•  I  may  add  that,  in  particular,  numerous  extinct  forms  intercalary  between 
man  and  ape  are  likely  to  be  discovered  when  we  search  for  them  in  those 
parts  of  the  earth  where  they  are  likely  to  exist, — namely,  in  Africa,  Mada- 
gascar, South-eastern  Asia,  and  the  Malay  Archipelago.  Such  forms  are  not 
likely,  however,  to  be  directly  intermediate  between  man  and  the  gorilla  oi 
the  chimpanzee.  For  these  are  probably  aberrant  types,  and  the  connection 
between  man  and  the  authropoid  apes  is  to  be  sought  much  lower  dowOi— • 


CH.  XI.]  TfVO  OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED.  43 

Prof.  Huxley  says,  "it  is  iudeed  a  conceivable  (?)  suppo- 
sition that  every  species  of  rhinoceros  and  every  species  of 
hysena,  in  the  long  succession  of  forms  between  the  Mio- 
cene and  the  present  species,  was  separately  constructed  out 
of  duot,  or  out  of  nothing,  by  supernatural  power ;  but  until 
I  receive  distinct  evidence  of  the  fact,  I  refuse  to  run  ihe 
risk  of  insulting  any  sane  nian  by  supposing  that  he  seri- 
ously holds  such  a  notion." 

It  thus  appears  that  the  argument  from  "  missing  links," 
which  to  the  general  reader  may  appear  so  obviously  fatal 
to  the  Darwinian  theory,  is  to  the  student  of  palaeontology 
by  no  means  alarming.  Our  brief  survey  of  the  facts  in  the 
case  has  shown  us  first,  that  transitional  varieties  are  always 
likely  to  have  been  less  numerous  in  individuals  than  the 
well-defined  species  which  they  serve  to  connect ;  secondly, 
that  the  geologic  eras  which  have  left  in  the  rocks  the  record 
of  their  organic  life  have  been  usually  the  eras  in  which 
variation  and  extinction  have  been  least  rapid,  and  in  which 
accordingly  transitional  varieties  have  been  least  numerous ; 
and  thirdly,  that  in  spite  of  all  these  adverse  circumstances, 
transitional  forms  have  already  been  discovered  in  consider- 
able numbers,  while  it  is  fair  to  expect  that  many  more 
will  be  discovered  when  by  and  by  we  have  come  to  know 
the  earth's  surface  more  intimately. 

Of  all  the  objections  which  have  been  urged  against  the 
theory  of  natural  selection,  this  objection,  from  the  paucity 
of  transitional  forms,  is  the  least  weighty,  though  probably 
the  most  obvious.  The  second  objection  which  we  have  to 
consider,  though  less  immediately  obvious,  is  more  weighty ; 
and  though  there  is  no  reason  for  regarding  it  as  insuper- 
able, we  must  admit  that  it  has  not  yet  been  entirely  dis- 
posed o£     This  objection  is  implicated  with  the  difference 

perhaps  near  the  point  of  departure  of  the  anthropoid  apes  from  the  lowei 
monkeys  and  lemurs.  See  the  anatomical  evidence  very  well  piesented  in 
Sir.  Mivart't  recent  work  on  Man  and  Apes. 


44  COSMIC  FRILOSOPEY,  [pt.  ii. 

oetween  the  morpLological  and  the  physiological  definitions 
of  species,  and  is  usually  known  as  the  argument  from  the 
infertility  of  hybrids.  As  ordinarily  stated,  indeed,  this 
argument  is  merely  the  expression  of  a  sorry  confusion  oi 
ideas.  By  a  curious  misunderstanding  the  infertility  of  the 
mule  is  often  urged  as  a  direct  objection  to  the  Darwinian 
theory.  But  this  is  putting  the  cart  before  the  horse.  It  is 
not  the  infertility  of  the  offspring  of  tlie  horse  and  the  ass 
which  should  be  cited  as  an  obstacle  to  the  theory  of  natural 
selection,  but  it  is  the  fertility  of  the  offspring  of  the  carrier- 
pigeon  and  the  pouter,  or  of  the  pouter  and  tumbler.  Mor- 
phologically the  carrier,  the  pouter,  and  the  tumbler  may 
well  be  regarded  as  distinct  species  artificially  developed 
from  a  common  wild  stock;  but  so  long  as  mutual  infer- 
tility is  held  to  be  the  physiological  test  by  which  we  are 
to  distinguish  between  varieties  and  species,  it  may  be  argued 
that,  in  spite  of  their  great  morphological  differences,  the 
carrier  and  the  tumbler  are  only  varieties  and  not  true 
species.  And  going  a  step  farther,  it  may  be  argued  that 
until  the  theory  of  natural  selection  has  accounted  for  the 
rise  of  infertility  between  races  descended  from  a  common 
stock,  it  has  not  completely  performed  the  task  of  reconciling 
deduction  with  observation. 

Against  the  derivation  theory  in  general,  this  objection  has 
no  weight  whatever.  That  races  originally  fertile  together 
should,  after  long  subjection  to  different  sets  of  circumstances, 
become  infertile  with  one  another,  is  a  priori  in  the  highest 
degree  probable,  when  we  reflect  upon  the  extreme  sensi- 
tiveness of  the  reproductive  system  to  changes  of  habit  in 
the  organism  as  a  whole.  When  we  remember  that  "the 
constitution  of  many  wild  animals  is  so  altered  by  confine- 
ment that  they  will  not  breed  even  with  their  own  females," 
we  need  not  be  surprised  that  the  leopard  and  the  lion, 
wliich  during  many  ages  have  had  very  different  habits  of 
life,  will  not  breed  with  each  other.     Nor  need  we  wondei 


r^.  XI.]  TWO  OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED.  4S 

that  tlie  horse  and  the  ass,  with  less  important  differences  in 
general  habit,  have  become  partially  infertile  together,  to 
such  an  extent  that  their  offspring  are  hopelessly  barren. 
Though  the  modus  operandi  of  this  change  is  as  yet  ill- 
understood,  it  is  nevertheless  a  change  quite  in  harmony 
with  what  we  know  concerning  the  intimate  dependence  of 
the  reproductive  system  upon  the  rest  of  the  organism.  And 
let  us  not  fail  to  note  that  it  is  the  achievement  of  this 
change  in  the  capacities  of  the  reproductive  system  which 
completes  the  demarcation  between  two  bifurcating  species, 
and  finally  prevents  the  indefinite  multiplication  of  inter- 
mediate varieties. 

Bat  while  this  objection  has  no  weight  as  against  the 
theory  of  derivation  in  general,  it  may  fairly  be  urged  that 
the  failure  to  explain  the  origination  of  mutual  infertility  is, 
for  the  present  at  least,  a  shortcoming  on  the  part  of  the 
theory  of  natural  selection.  After  the  conclusive  arguments 
brought  up  in  our  ninth  chapter,  the  derivation  theory  wiU 
no  longer,  in  the  present  work,  be  regarded  as  on  trial :  that 
the  higher  forms  of  life  are  derived  from  lower  forms,  will 
be  taken  as  proved.  But  whether  the  theory  of  natural 
selection  has  completely  fulfilled  its  proposed  task  of  ex- 
plaining the  mode  in  which  such  derivation  has  been  brought 
about,  is  quite  another  question.  And  while  admitting  the 
•  uU  force  of  the  considerations  alleged  by  Mr.  Darwin,  in  his 
admirable  chapter  on  Hybridism,  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is 
a  gap  at  this  point  which  further  research  will  be  required 
to  fiU.^    As  Prof.  Huxley  reminds  us,  "  it  must  not  be  for- 

*  I  doubt  if  the  hypothesis  of  natural  selection,  taken  alone,  will  afford  ths 
lolution  of  this  problem.  It  seems  more  likely  that  such  considerations  will 
have  to  enter  as  are  presented  in  Mr.  Spencer's  Principles  of  Biology,  voL  L 
pp.  209-291.  Concerning  what  may  be  called  the  "  dynamics  of  heredity," 
we  know  as  yet  but  little  ;  but  as  far  as  speculation  has  already  gone,  Mr. 
Darwin's  theory  of  pangenesis  seems  to  me  decidedly  inferior  to  Mr.  Spencer's 
theory  of  physiological  units.  I  do  not  discuss  these  theories  here,  because 
it  is  not  necessary  for  the  general  purposes  of  this  work  It  may  do  no 
aanu,  however,  to  remind  some  o^"  my  readers  that  "pangenesis"  is  merely 


46  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

gotten  that  the  really  important  fact,  so  far  as  the  inquiry  into 
the  origin  of  species  goes,  is  that  there  are  such  things  in 
nature  as  groups  of  animals  and  of  plants,  whose  members  are 
incapable  of  fertile  union  with  those  of  other  groups ;  and 
that  there  are  such  things  as  hybrids,  which  are  absolutely 
sterile  when  crossed  with  other  hybrids.  For  if  such 
phenomena  as  these  were  exhibited  by  only  two  of  those 
assemblages  of  living  objects,  to  which  the  name  of  species 
...  is  given,  it  would  have  to  be  accounted  for  by  any  theory 
of  the  origin  of  species,  and  every  theory  which  could  not 
account  for  it  would  be,  so  far,  imperfect."  * 

"We  have  now  reached  a  point  at  which  we  may  pause  for 
a  moment  to  contemplate  the  theory  of  natural  selection  in 
its  logical  aspect,  and  to  mark  its  character  as  a  scientific 
hypothesis.  A  moment's  inspection  will  reveal  the  absurdity 
of  the  thoughtless  remark — sometimes  heard  from  theologians 
and  penny-a-liners — that  the  Darwinian  theory  rests  upon 
purely  gratuitous  assumptions  and  can  never  be  submitted  to 
verification.  On  the  contrary,  the  theory  of  natural  selection, 
when  analyzed,  will  be  found  to  consist  of  eleven  propositions, 
of  which  nine  are  demonstrated  truths,  the  tenth  is  a  corollary 
from  its  nine  predecessors,  and  the  eleventh  is  a  perfectly  legi- 
timate postulate.     Let  us  enumerate  these  propositions:— 

1.  More  organisms  perish  than  survive ; 

2.  No  two  individuals  are  exactly  alike ; 

3.  Individual  peculiarities  are  transmissible  to  offspring  ; 
4  Individuals  whose  peculiarities  bring  them  into  closest 

a  laptation  with  their  environment,  are  those  which  survive 
and  transmit  their  peculiar  organizations  ; 

5.  The  survival  of  the  fittest  thus  tends  to  maintain  an 
equilibrium  between  organisms  and  their  environments ; 

a  subsidiary  hjrpothesis,  with  the  possible  inadequacy  of  which  Mr.  Sarwin'l 
main  theory  is  in  no  way  concerned. 
*  Huiley,  Lay  Sermons,  p.  303. 


CH.  xi.J  TWO  OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED,  47 

6.  But  the  environment  of  every  group  of  organisms  is 
steadily,  though  slowly,  changing  ; 

7.  Every  group  of  organisms  must  accordingly  change  in 
average  character,  under  penalty  of  extinction  ; 

8.  Changes  due  to  individual  variation  are  complicated  by 
the  law  that  a  change  set  up  in  any  one  part  of  a  highly 
complex  and  coherent  aggregate,  like  an  organism,  initiates 
changes  in  other  parts ; 

9.  They  are  further  complicated  by  the  law  that  structures 
are  nourished  in  proportion  to  their  use ; 

10.  From  the  foregoing  nine  propositions,  each  one  of 
which  is  indisputably  true,  it  is  an  inevitable  corollary  that 
changes  thus  set  up  and  complicated  must  eventually  alter 
the  specific  character  of  any  given  group  of  organisms ; 

11.  It  is  postulated  that,  since  the  first  appearance  of  life 
upon  the  earth's  surface,  sufficient  time  has  elapsed  to  have 
enabled  such  causes  as  the  foregoing  to  produce  all  the 
specific  heterogeneity  now  witnessed. 

It  seems  to  me  that  this  summary  fairly  represents  the 
logical  character  of  the  theory  of  natural  selection.  The 
theory  is  so  strong  that  no  scientific  writer  is  disposed  to 
deny  that  the  process  of  natural  selection  has  always  gone 
on  and  must  continue  to  go  on.  And  the  inference  cannot 
be  avoided  that  in  due  course  of  time  the  process  must  work 
specific  variations.  The  only  purely  hypothetical  portion  of 
the  theory  is  the  assumption  that  past  geologic  time  has  been 
long  enough  to  allow  of  the  total  process  of  evolution  by 
such  infinitesimal  increments.  But  concerning  this  assump- 
tion, it  is  the  clear  verdict  of  logic,  that  if  the  theory  is 
thoroughly  substantiated  in  all  its  other  portions,  we  have 
the  right  to  claim  as  much  time  as  is  needful,  provided  we 
do  not  run  counter  to  conclusions  legitimately  reached  by 
astronomy,  geology,  or  physics.  Now  concerning  the  age  of 
the  earth,  neither  astronomy,  nor  geology,  nor  physics,  has  as 
yet  had  anything  conclusive  to  say ;  and  it  must  be  left  for 


48  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  n. 

future  inquiries  to  give  us  tTie  quantitative  data  requisite  for 
settling  this  point.^     We  cannot  yet,  indeed,  estimate  the  age 
of  the  last  great  glacial  epoch  with  any  approach  to  accuracy; 
yet  the  age  which  we  assign  to  this  epoch  must  enter  as  an 
important  factor  into  our  estimates  of  the  antiquity  of  pre- 
ceding epochs.     But  while  this  point  remains  undetermined, 
it  may  be   noted  that  even  the  decision  which  leaves  the 
smallest  time  for  the  operation  of  unaided  natural  selection 
can  weaken  the  Darwinian  theory  only  on  the  assumption 
that  the  agency  already  alleged  by  that  theory  has  been  the 
sole  factor  concerned  in  forwarding  organic  evolution;  and 
this  assumption,  though  it  may  have  been  made  by  over- 
confident disciples  of  Mr.  Darwin,  has  never  been  made  by 
Mr.  Darwin  himself.     Mr.  Darwin  is  too  profoundly  scientific 
in  spirit  to  imagine  that,  with  all  his  unrivalled  patience  and 
sagacity,  he  has  completely  solved  one  of  the  most  intricate 
problems  with  which  the  student  of  nature  has  ever  been 
called  upon  to   deal.     It  is   more  than  likely  that  future 
research  will  disclose  other  agencies  which  have  cooperated 
with  natural  selection  in  accelerating  the  diversification  of 
species.     Meanwhile  the  evidence  in  behalf  of  the  first  ten 
propositions  involved  in  the  Darwinian  theory  is  sufficiently 
strong  to  make  it  apparent  that  a  vast  amount  of  specific 
change  must  have  taken  place,  and  also  that  natural  selection 
bas  been  a  chief  factor  in  producing  that  change.     To  the 
arguments  which  in  our  ninth  cliapter  were  seen  to  overthrow 
the  dogma  of  fixity  of   species,   may  now  be   added  the 
argument  that  at  least  one  group  of  clearly-defined  agencies 
is  at  work,  with  which,  in  the  long  run,  the  fixity  of  species 
must  become  incompatible.     The  explanation  of  the  details 
of    specific    differentiation  may  well  form  the   subject  of 
cautious  investigation  for  many  generations  of  observers  and 

^  The  reader  who  wishes  to  see  how  fallaciouB  all  attempts  at  reachmg  th« 
age  of  the  earth  from  astronomico-physical  arguments  are  likely  to  prove  witl 
our  preaent  resources,  may  consult  Huxley's  Lay  Sermons,  pp.  268  V9. 


JH.  XI.]  TWO  OBJECTIONS  CONSIDERED.  49 

thinkers.  But  enough  has  already  been  explained  to  draw 
forth  the  undeniable  Fact  of  Derivation  from  the  region  of 
mystery  in  which  it  was  formerly  half-hidden,  and  thus  to 
place  the  Theory  of  Derivation  upon  a  thoroughly  scientific 
basis.  In  expounding  the  way  in  which  this  has  been  done, 
we  have  obtained  several  useful  conceptions,  which  will  not 
fail  to  do  us  good  service  in  future  chaptera^ 


TOL, 


CHAPTER  Xn 

ADJXJSTMEirr,  DIRECT  AND  INDIRECT. 

An  objection  much  less  obvious  than  the  two  considered  in 
the  foregoing  chapter,  is  brought  up  by  Mr.  Mivart  against 
the  theory  of  natural  selection.  In  the  Cuvierian  classifica- 
tion, the  marsupials  were  ranked  as  an  order  of  mammalia, 
side  by  side  with  orders  like  the  carnivora  or  rodentia.  This 
arrangement  is  now  obsolete.  The  class  of  mammals  is  no 
longer  directly  divided  into  orders,  but  is  first  separated  into 
three  sub-classes,  the  monodelphia,  didelphia,  and  ornitho- 
delphia.  The  latter  sub-class,  forming  the  link  between 
mammals  and  sauroids,  is  now  nearly  extinct,  being  repre- 
sented only  by  a  single  order,  containing  two  genera,  the 
Australian  echidna  and  duck-bill.  Leaving  these  aside,  all 
other  mammals,  except  the  marsupials,  are  comprised  within 
the  sub-class  monodelphia.  The  didelphia  or  marsupials  are 
divided  by  Prof.  Haeckel  into  eight  orders ;  and  between 
these  orders  and  sundry  orders  of  the  higher  monodelphia 
there  is  a  curious  parallelism.  For  example  there  is  an  order 
of  edentate  marsupials,  there  is  a  marsupial  order  of  carnivora, 
and  another  of  insectivora,  and  another  of  rodents,  while  the 
kangaroo  strongly  resembles  the  sub-order  of  ruminants,  and 
the  opossum  is  clearly  related  to  the  lemurs,  or  lowe.:;t  of  the 
primatea     It  becomes,  '.hen,  an  interesting  problem  to  settle 


CH.  xii.]    ADJUSTMENT,  DIRECT  AND  INDIRECT.  61 

the  genetic  relationships  hetween  the  two  sub-classes.  Did 
the  order  of  apes  descend  from  the  ape-like  marsupials,  the 
monodelphian  carnivora  from  the  didelphian  carnivora,  the 
higher  rodents  from  the  marsupial  rodents,  and  so  on  ?  If 
so,  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  the  pouch  should  have  been  lost, 
and  the  placenta  developed  in  so  many  different  orders 
independently:  such  a  number  of  exact  coincidences  seem 
hardly  probable.  On  the  other  hand,  did  all  the  monodelphia 
descend  from  one  didelphian  form  ?  If  so,  it  is  strange  that 
the  differentiation  into  orders  should  have  gone  on  so  similarly 
in  the  two  sub-classes,  resulting,  for  example,  in  the  production 
of  marsupial  mice  which  in  general  appearance  are  hardly 
distinguishable  from  placental  mice. 

Birds  and  reptiles  present  an  equally  puzzling  cross- 
relation.  Upon  no  theory  are  these  the  direct  ancestors  of 
mammals,  although  the  lowest  mammals  are  both  bird-like 
md  reptilian  in  appearance.  The  duck-bill,  belonging  to  the 
mammalian  sub-class  of  ornithodelphia,  somewhat  resembles 
a  lizard  with  a  bird's  beak.  Embryology  shows  that  the 
three  classes  are  divergent  offshoots  from  an  amphibious 
or  batrachioid  ancestor ;  but  the  birds  and  reptiles  resemble 
each  other  much  more  closely  than  either  resembles  the 
mammalia,  so  that  Prof.  Huxley  joins  them  together  in  the 
Buper-class  or  province  of  sauroids.  So  far  all  is  plain  ;  but 
when  we  inquire  by  what  forms  the  birds  and  reptiles  are 
linked  most  closely  together,  we  are  met  by  a  difficulty. 
Birds  are  divided  into  two  sub-classes:  tlie  ostrich,  cassowary, 
emeu,  dinornis,  etc.,  are  grouped  together  as  struthious  birds, 
while  all  other  existing  forms  belong  to  the  sub-class  of 
carinate  birds.  Now  until  quite  lately  it  was  supposed  that 
ill  birds  were  descended  from  an  extinct  reptilian  form  like 
"hat  ancient  reptile,  the  flying  pterodactyl.  For  the  resem- 
blances in  structure  between  the  pterodactyls  and  the  carinate 
birds  are  striking  enough  to  have  suggested  an  immediate  com- 
aaunity  of  origin.     Nevertheless,  within  the  past  seven  years, 

£  2 


62  COSMIC  FHILOSUPRT,  [pt.  ii. 

a  much  stronger  case  has  been  made  out  in  favour  of  the 
descent  of  the  struthious  birds  from  large  reptilian  forms 
akin  to  the  dinosauria, — of  which  extinct  order  the  member 
most  commonly  known  is  the  gigantic  iguauodon.  Now 
here,  says  Mr.  Mivart,  is  a  dilemma  just  like  the  one  which 
confronted  us  in  the  case  of  mammals.  If  all  birds  started 
from  the  pterodactyl,  why  do  the  struthious  birds  so  strongly 
resemble  a  totally  different  reptile  ?  If  all  birds  started  from 
a  dinosaurus,  why  do  the  carinate  birds  so  strongly  resemble 
the  pterodactyl  ?  If  we  try  to  split  the  difference,  and  say 
that  the  carinate  birds  started  from  the  pterodactyl,  while 
the  struthious  birds  started  from  the  dinosaurus,  the  difficulty 
is  immensely  increased.  For  then  the  question  arises,  how 
could  the  struthious  and  the  carinate  birds,  starting  from 
such  different  points,  have  come  to  resemble  each  other 
so  strongly  ? 

Mr,  Mivart  is  careful  to  state  that  these  zoological  cross- 
relations  do  not  constitute  an  obstacle  to  the  theory  of  evolu- 
tion. They  are  difficulties  only  on  the  theory  that  organic 
evolution  has  been  solely  caused  by  the  natural  selection  of 
fortuitous  variations.  To  make  this  more  clear,  let  us  pro- 
visionally accept  one  of  each  of  the  pairs  of  alternatives 
offered  by  the  two  cases  just  described.  Let  us  agree,  with 
Prof.  Haeckel,  that  all  the  monodelphian  mammals  have 
come  from  one  didelphian;  and  let  us  agree,  with  Pro£ 
Huxley,  that  the  kinship  between  birds  and  reptiles  is  closest 
in  the  case  of  the  struthious  birds  and  the  dinosaurians. 
Now  we  are  obliged  to  maintain  that  the  original  monodel- 
phian branched  off  into  a  dozen  or  more  forms,  of  which  six 
or  seven  happen  to  agree  remarkably,  in  general  appearance 
and  in  habits  of  life,  with  six  or  seven  of  the  forms  into 
which  the  original  didelphian  had  at  an  earlier  date  branched 
off.  And  we  are  also  obliged  to  maintain  that  the  remark- 
able shoulder-structure  of  the  pterodactyl,  in  which  it  agrees 
BO  closely  with  the  carinate  birds,  was  independently  evolved 


BH.  XII.]    ADJUSTMENT,  DIRECT  AND  INDIRECT.  63 

and  has  a  purely  physiological  significance.  That  is  to  say, 
the  resemblance  of  the  pterodactyl  to  carinate  birds  is  a 
secondary  adaptive  resemblance,  like  the  less  marked  re- 
semblance of  bats  to  birds,  or  like  the  resemblance  of  a 
porpoise  to  a  fish.  And  this  view,  which  seems  to  be  Prof. 
Huxley's,  is  rendered  probable  by  the  fact  that  in  wing- 
structure  the  pterodactyl  difiers  from  birds  in  much  the  same 
way  that  a  bat  does. 

We  are  now  extricated  from  our  imbroglio  with  regard  to 
classification,  but  we  are  still  left  confronted  with  the  diffi- 
culty of  supposing  that  the  natural  selection  of  casual  varia- 
tions can  so  often  have  resulted  in  producing  whole  orders  of 
closely-resembling  animals  from  distinct  ancestral  orders. 
Other  facts,  brought  up  by  Mr,  Mivart,  still  further  increase 
the  apparent  difficulty.  The  most  important  of  all  these 
relate  to  the  development  of  the  higher  organs  of  sense  in  the 
three  sub-kingdoms  of  annulosa,  mollusks,  and  vertebrates. 
Coincidences  between  the  members  of  any  one  of  these 
sub-kingdoms  and  the  members  of  the  others,  are  not 
to  be  attributed  to  community  of  origin.  No  naturalist 
supposes  that  an  annulose  animal,  or  a  true  mollusk,  has 
ever  been  developed  into  a  vertebrate.  And  while  the  mol- 
lusks and  vertelDrates  appear  to  have  diverged  from  a  mol- 
luscoid  ancestor  akin  to  the  still-living  ascidians,  the  annulose 
sub-kingdom  has  a  totally  different  pedigree.  To  discover 
anjr  likeness  between  the  two  great  groups,  we  must  follow 
tbem  back  to  those  remotest  ancestors  who  possessed  hardly 
any  distinctively  animal  characteristics.  Bearing  all  this 
in  mind,  it  is  a  striking  fact  that  the  eye  of  the  cuttle- 
fish, which  is  the  highest  of  mollusks,  appears  to  be  con- 
structed like  the  eyes  of  vertebrates.  It  apparently  contains 
not  only  a  similar  retina,  but  also  a  lens,  the  choroid  and 
sclerotic  tunics,  and  the  vitreous  and  aqueous  humours. 
Now  this  coincidence  cannot  be  due  to  community  of  in- 
\ieritance,  for  the  vertebrate  and  molluscous  sub-kingdoms 


64  COSMIC  PEILOSOFHT,  [pr.  u. 

are  linked  together  only  at  their  lowest  extremities,  and 
while  the  lowest  vertebrate  has  an  eye  far  inferior  to  the 
one  just  described,  the  molluscoid  ascidians  have  merely 
rudimentary  eye-spots.  The  coincident  structures  have  there- 
fore been  independently  developed.  Again,  Mr.  Mivart  urges 
that  the  agreement  cannot  be  explained  on  the  assumption 
"  that  the  conditions  requisite  for  effecting  vision  are  so  rigid 
that  similar  results  in  all  cases  must  be  independently  arrived 
at " ;  for  the  eyes  of  the  higher  insects,  which  are  excellent 
visual  organs,  differ  very  widely  in  structure  from  those  of 
the  cuttle-fish  and  the  higher  vertebrates.  Here,  therefore,  is 
a  difficulty  ;  and  it  is  still  further  increased  if  the  alleged  fact 
be  true,  that  there  is  a  similarly  close  correspondence  between 
the  auditory  structures  in  the  vertebrates  and  in  the  cuttle-fish. 

In  presenting  these  difficulties  I  have  closely  followed  Mr. 
Mivart,  whose  scientific  arguments  are  usually  stated  with  a 
clearness  and  precision  which  one  would  gladly  see  paralleled 
in  the  philosophic  discussions  by  which  they  are  supplemented. 
I  have  selected  these  arguments  because  they  seem  to  me  to 
constitute  the  strongest  portion  of  the  case  which  Mr.  Mivart 
has  brought  to  bear  against  the  theory  of  natural  selection ; 
and  also  because  by  seeing  whither  they  tend,  we  shall  begin 
to  see  how  the  theory  of  natural  selection  must  be  supple- 
mented, before  it  can  become  a  complete  explanation  of  the 
phenomena  with  which  it  deals. 

Now  we  must  at  the  outset  admit  that  natural  selection 
must  act  upon  every  individual  variation  which  is  distinctly 
advantageous  or  injurious  to  the  species, — always  preserving 
rhe  former  and  rejecting  the  latter.  This  process  must  equally 
go  on,  whether  the  variation  is  a  mere  idiosyncrasy,  such  as 
■we  call  fortuitous,  or  whether  it  is  one  that  is  manifested 
simultaneously  by  a  large  number  of  individuals,  so  that  it 
may  be  traced  to  causes  acting  upon  them  all  in  common 
Now  this  latter  cas^e  is  the  one  which  must  here  be  taken  into 
the  account.     If  a  large  number  of  individuals  may  slmul* 


OT.  xil]  adjustmei^t,  direct  and  indirect.         5t 

taneously  vary  in  a  given  direction,  and  if  this  may  often 
happen  within  the  limits  of  single  generations,  it  is  obvious 
that  we  have  here  a  factor  of  specific  change  not  to  he  lightly 
passed  over.  In  estimating  the  effects  of  natural  selection 
upon  a  number  of  variations  which  are,  quite  legitimately, 
taken  for  granted,  we  must  not  forget  to  generalize  the  varia- 
tions in  connection  with  some  common  cause  to  which  they 
may  be  assignable.  Now  it  cannot  be  denied  that  in  any 
Bingle  generation  of  organisms  variations  are  very  likely  to 
occur,  throughout  neaily  the  whole  number  of  individuals, 
which  are  due  to  the  direct  adaptation  of  the  species  to  its 
environing  circumstances.  "When  exhibited  in  the  effects 
wrought  upon  the  human  constitution  by  exposure  to  changed 
physical  conditions,  such  variations  are  known  as  acclimatiza- 
tion. Within  the  infinitesimal  period  of  two  centuries  the 
English  race  in  America  has  come  to  differ  perceptibly,  though 
very  slightly,  from  the  English  race  in  Europe ;  and  this  \  ery 
slight  difference,  which  cannot  be  explained  by  the  much 
overrated  hypothesis  of  the  infusion  of  foreign  blood,  and 
which  certainly  cannot  be  traced  to  natural  selection,  must 
be  almost  wholly  due  to  direct  adaptation  to  new  physical 
and  social  conditions.  Of  kindred  import  is  the  fact  that 
"twenty-nine  kinds  of  American  trees  all  differ  from  their 
nearest  European  allies  in  a  similar  manner,  having  leaves 
^ess  toothed,  buds  and  seeds  smaller,  fewer  branchlets,  etc." 
CO  M.  Costa  states  "that  young  shells  taken  from  the  shores 
01  England  and  placed  in  the  Mediterranean  at  once  altered 
their  manner  of  growth,  and  formed  prominent  diverging  rays 
like  those  on  the  shells  of  the  proper  Mediterranean  oyster." 
We  have  seen  that  the  direct  action  of  physical  agencies  will 
by  no  means  account  for  the  chief  features  of  colouring  in 
the  organic  world ;  yet  it  appears  to  be  true  that  members  of 
the  same  species  of  birds  are  more  brightly  coloured  when 
living  in  a  clear  dry  atmosphere  than  when  living  near  the 
coast.     So,  to(\  in  the  contour  of  their  wings,  the  various 


B6  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  it 

butterflies  of  Celebes  all  show  parallel  divergences,  inexpli- 
cable by  natural  selection  alone,  from  kindred  species  in  Java 
and  India.  And  a  host  of  like  facts  concerning  these  insects 
are  cited  by  Mr.  Mivart  from  Mr.  Wallace's  essay  on  the 
Malayan  Papilionidse.  More  examples  might  be  cited  if  this 
work  were  intended  to  be  a  scientific  treatise  on  Darwinism ; 
but  for  the  comprehension  of  the  present  point,  in  its  philo- 
sophic bearings,  these  illustrations  will  suffice. 

Facts  of  this  kind  point  to  the  conclusion  that  an  inherent 
capacity  for  adaptive  changes  is  possessed  by  all  organisms. 
And  by  the  phrase  "  inherent  capacity "  I  do  not  mean  to 
insinuate  the  existence  of  any  occulta  vis,  or  metaphysical 
"  innate  power,"  of  which  no  scientific  account  is  to  be  given 
in  terms  of  matter  and  motion.     An  organism  is  a  complex 
system  of  forces ;  even  the  simplest  living  patch  of  proto- 
plasm is  a  highly  complex  system,  but  in  the  higher  organisms 
the  complication  of  forces  is  almost  infinite,  when  compared 
with  our  limited  powers  of  analysis.     Now  such  a  system  of 
forces  must,  under  penalty  of  overthrow,  maintain  both  its 
internal  equilibrium  and  its  equilibrium  with  external  inci- 
dent forces.     And  this  double  maintenance  of  equilibrium 
necessitates  a  rhythmical  redistribution  of  forces  from  mo- 
ment to  moment,  of  which,  as  was  shown  in  the  chapter  on 
rhythm,  the   result   must   be   continual  change.     ISTow  the 
internal  equilibration  of  the  forces  in  the  organism  with  each 
other,  is  generalized  in  the  laws  of  growth,  development,  and 
heredity ;   while  the  external  equilibration  of  the  forces  in 
the  organism  with  environing  forces,  is  generalized  in  the 
laws  of  variation  and  adaptation.  As  the  result  of  the  former 
process,  all  organisms  tend  to  assume  certain  typical  forms, 
as  inevitably  as  crystals.  In  the  case  of  the  lowest  organisms 
the  forms  assumed  may  possibly  be  due  to  the  operation  oi 
chemical  polarity  similar  (though  much  more  involved)  to 
that  which  gives  form  to  crystals.     In  all  but  the  lowest 
organisms  the  forms  assumed  are  the  expression  of  tendencies 


CH.  XII.]    ADJUSTMENT,  DIBEGT  AND  INDIBEC  T.  67 

due  to  the  cooperation  of  countless  ancestral  forces;  and 
such  tendencies  are  now  not  improperly  classified  undcT  the 
head  of  "  physiological  polarity," — provided  that  nothing 
more  is  meant  by  "polarity"  than  the  ability  of  certain 
special  groups  of  forces  to  work  different  structural  changes 
in  different  directions.  So  much  for  the  internal  adaptive 
process.  But  now,  as  the  result  of  the  parallel  process  of 
external  adaptation,  it  follows  that  the  forms  due  to  the 
internal  process  can  remain  constant  only  so  long  as  the 
environment  remains  unchanged.  If  the  changes  in  the 
environment  are  too  great  or  too  sudden  to  be  equilibrated 
by  changes  in  the  distribution  of  the  system  of  internal 
forces,  the  system  is  overthrown,  and  the  organism  perishes. 
But  if  the  external  changes  are  moderate  and  gradual,  the 
adjustment  of  the  organism  to  them  by  means  of  internal 
changes,  must  result  in  that  kind  of  organic  variation  known 
as  direct  adaptation.  "We  need  not  be  surprised,  therefore, 
by  the  parallel  variations  of  whole  genera  of  American  trees 
or  Malayan  butterflies ;  nor  need  we  ascribe  them,  with  cer- 
tain recent  writers,  to  "  occult  energies  "  of  the  metaphysical 
sort,  or  to  a  kind  of  pantheistic  "  intelligence  "  inherent  in 
nature,  or  to  any  other  agency  unrecognizable  by  science  ; 
since  the  necessity  for  such  parallel  variations,  wherever 
whole  groups  of  organisms  are  exposed  to  like  environing 
agencies,  is  a  corollary  from  the  fundamental  principles  of 
vital  dynamics. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  amend  quite  materially  the 
view  thus  far  taken  of  the  causes  of  organic  evolution. 
Hitherto  we  have  concerned  ourselves  too  exclusively  with 
the  selection  of  variations,  omitting  to  inquire  into  the  cha- 
racter and  mode  of  origin  of  the  variations  selected.  But 
the  latter  point  is  no  less  important  than  the  former.  If 
variations  might  occur  equally  in  all  directions  from  the 
average  standard,  by  reason  of  circumstances  so  indefinitely 
compounded  as   to   make  them   seem  fortuitous,  then  the 


58  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  u, 

natural  selection  of  such  variations  might  well  be  pronounced 
incapable — save  in  very  rare  instances — of  working  entirely 
analogous  results  in  organisms  so  genetically  distinct  as 
monodelphians  and  didelpbians,  or  as  vertebrates  and  mol- 
lusks.  In  other  words,  natural  selection,  acting  upon  such 
fortuitous  individual  variations,  would  tend  to  produce  in- 
definitely increasing  differentiations  in  many  directions. 
Such  differentiations  are  to  be  seen  in  the  amazingly  elabo- 
rate  contrivances  for  the  fertilization  of  orchids,  the  expla- 
nation of  which  is  one  of  Mr.  Darwin's  most  brilliant 
achievements.  But  when  it  is  admitted  that  a  great  num- 
ber of  similar  adaptive  variations  must  be  simultaneously 
occurring  in  the  same  direction,  then  it  is  obvious  that  the 
natural  selection  of  such  variations  may  often  produce  ana- 
logous results  in  different  genera  and  families,  or  even  in 
different  orders,  classes,  or  sub-kingdoms.  Mr.  Mivart 
alleges  the  many  resemblances  between  whales  and  the 
ancient  ichthyosaurians,  as  hardly  explicable  on  the  theory 
of  the  selection  of  fortuitous  variations.  But  when  we  recol- 
lect that  the  vertebrate  structure  of  mammals  is  at  the  out- 
set homologous  with  that  of  reptiles,  and  that  direct  adaptation 
must  of  itself  tend  to  produce  similar  variations  alike  in 
mammals  and  in  reptiles  which  pass  from  a  terrestrial  into  an 
aquatic  environment,  the  resemblance  between  a  whale  and 
an  ichthyosaurus  ceases  to  be  an  enigma.  The  superficial 
resemblance  of  a  whale  to  a  fish  is  a  fact  of  like  nature. 
And  in  the  case  of  amphibious  carnivora,  like  the  seal,  direct 
adaptation  to  a  partially  marine  environment  has  aided  in 
producing  fish-like  limbs,  while  it  has  not  interfered  with 
the  general  likeness  of  the  animal  to  certain  families  of  land 
carnivora.  So  in  the  case  of  the  pterodactyl  as  compared 
with  carinate  birds,  we  begin  with  skeletons  constructed  on 
the  same  plan,  and  we  may  expect  to  find  that  direct  adapta* 
tion  to  the  necessities  of  flight  will  tend  to  produce  similai 
modifications  of  the  shoulder-structure.     But  since,  befora 


CH.  xii.]    ADJUSTMENT,  DIRECT  AND  INDIRECT.  59 

the  appearance  of  pterodactyls,  the  dermal  covering  of 
reptiles  was  very  likely  as  dififereut  from  that  of  birds  as  it 
is  now,  so  that  a  reptilian  wing  could  not  be  formed  by  a 
modification  of  the  dermal  covering,  we  find,  naturally 
enough,  the  wing  of  the  pterodactyl  formed,  like  that  of  the 
bat,  by  a  modification  of  the  skeleton.  And  this  fact  seems 
to  justify  us  in  the  alternative  which  we  have  accepted,  that 
the  likeness  of  the  pterodactyl  to  birds  is  no  proof  of  im- 
mediate kinship,  but  only  of  secondary  adaptive  variation, 
as  in  the  case  of  bats.  A  similar  argument  applies  to  the 
numerous  likenesses  between  the  higher  mammals  and  the 
marsupials.  At  an  ancient  epoch  the  marsupials  were  a 
dominant  race  of  animals,  extending  all  over  the  world. 
But  since  they  have  been  almost  everywhere  exterminated 
by  their  hardier  monodelphian  descendants,  there  is  no 
difficulty  in  the  view  that  direct  adaptation  to  similar  differ- 
ences of  environment,  when  aided  by  natural  selection,  has 
brought  about  a  differentiation  of  the  higher  mammals  analo- 
gous to  that  which  had  formerly  taken  place  among  the 
marsupials.  That  six  or  seven  orders  of  monodelphians 
should  vary  in  the  same  direction  with  six  or  seven  orders  of 
didelphians,  is  no  more  surprising  than  that  twenty-nine 
kinds  of  American  trees  should  all  differ  in  the  same  direc- 
tion from  their  European  congeners.  It  is  certainly  far  less 
surprising  than  would  be  the  simultaneous  loss  of  a  pouch 
and  acquirement  of  a  placenta  by  a  host  of  marsupial  genera 
scattered  all  over  the  earth. 

Pursuing  the  argument  a  step  farther,  we  may  begin  to 
understand,  in  a  general  way,  eveii  the  similarity  of  the  eye 
of  a  cuttle-fish  to  the  eye  of  a  vertebrate.  Utterly  unlike  a 
vertebrate  in  general  structure,  and  so  remotely  akin  that 
for  practical  purposes  of  argument  the  kinship  is  of  no 
account, — if  a  cuttle-fish  could  be  shown  to  possess  numeroua 
points  of  special  resemblance  to  a  vertebrate,  the  fact  would 
be  an  obstacle  to  any  theory  of  the  origin  of  organic  forma. 


10  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft,  u. 

But  the  only  special  resemblances  wliicli  are  found  to  exist, 
are  those  between  the   eyes  and  the  ears.     Now  these  are 
organs  in  which  such  variations  as  occur  must  be  in  a  pre- 
eminent  degree  directly  adaptive.     The  eye,  for  example, 
contains  an  optical  apparatus  of  which  the  function  is  the 
concentration  of  rays  of  light  into  a  focus  upon  the  retina. 
Such  is  the  function  discharged  by  the  lens,  and  the  vitreous 
and  aqueous  humours.     Now,  while  the  compound  eyes  of 
insects  show  us  that  this  function  can  be  discharged  in  more 
than  one  way,  a  brief  consideration  of  the  optical  conditions 
in  the  case  would  show  that  it  can  only  be  accomplished  in 
a  few  ways.     Not  only  does  the  passage  of  the  light  directly 
tend  to  set  up  molecular  rearrangements  in  the  refracting 
matter  which  lies  before  the  retina,  but  out  of  those  rearrange- 
ments there  are  very  few  which  can  assist  the  focalizing  pro- 
cess, so  that  natural  selection,  in  preserving  the  best-refracting 
eyes,  would  have  but  very  few  directions  in  which  to  act. 
The  anterior  membrane  might  differentiate  into  a  number  of 
converging  lenses,  as  in  the  higher  annulosa,  but  if  such  a 
differentiation  did  not  occur,  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  the 
needful  refraction  could  be  secured,  save  by  the  differentiation 
of  the  successive  strata  which  we  call  the  aqueous,  crystalline, 
and  vitreous  humours.     This  may  serve  to  indicate  the  course 
of  explanation   to   be  taken.     The  physical  conditions  for 
securing  very  efficient  vision  being  thus  limited,  and  direct 
adaptation  being  such  an  important  factor  in  the  process, 
it  does  not  seem  at  all  strange  that  two  eyes  quite  similar  in 
structure   should  be  independently  produced.     A  precisely 
similar  argument  will  apply  to  the  case  of  the  ear.     And  the 
force  of  these  considerations  is  still  further  increased  when 
we  learn  from  Prof.  Gegenbaur  that  the  resemblances  be- 
tween the  eyes  of  vertebrates  and  the  eyes  of  cuttle-fishes  are 
only  superficial  analogies,  and  not  fundamental  homologies, 
as  Mr.  Mivart's  very  exaggerated  statement  might  lead  one 
to  suppose. 


CH.  XII.]    ADJUSTMENT,  DIRECT  AND  INDIRECT.  61 

In  all  these  cases,  here  too  briefly  summed  up,  natural 
Belection  must  of  course  be  regarded  as  steadily  cooperating 
with  direct  adaptation.  No  matter  whether  individual  vari- 
ations are  directly  called  forth  by  environing  agencies,  or  are 
due  to  internal  causes,  in  our  ignorance  of  which  we  call 
them  fortuitous,  they  must  equally  be  the  objects  of  natural 
selection  wherever  they  influence,  in  the  slightest  degree,  the 
individual's  chances  of  survival.  Thus  the  theory  of  natural 
selection  is  not  superseded,  but  supplemented,  by  the  class 
of  considerations  here  suggested  by  Mr.  Mivart's  objections. 
Ordinarily,  if  not  always,  the  two  processes  must  go  on  in 
concert ;  and  while  the  frequent  occurrence  of  directly  adap- 
tive changes  must  greatly  accelerate  the  operation  of  natural 
selection,  on  the  other  hand  natural  selection,  by  weeding  out 
all  cases  of  retrograde  variation,  must  complete  the  work  of 
direct  adaptation. 

There  are,  however,  some  conspicuous  instances  in  which 
natural  selection  seems  to  play  either  a  very  subordinate 
part,  or  none  at  all.  As  we  have  just  been  considering  eyes 
and  ears,  let  us  once  more  return  to  them,  to  show  how  certain 
peculiarities  in  their  structure  must  be  chiefly  due  to  directly 
adaptive  changes.  "Within  the  human  ear,  firmly  fastened 
in  the  temporal  bone,  is  a  spirally-coiled  chamber,  known  as 
he  cochlea.  Within  this  chamber  there  is  a  very  elastic 
membrane,  and  on  it  lie  tlie  so-called  Jihres  of  Corti,  which 
are  a  series  of  fibrous  filaments  placed  side  by  side,  with 
great  regularity,  so  as  to  present  somewhat  the  appearance  of 
the  key-board  on  a  piano.  It  is  now  held  by  physiologists 
•hat  this  row  of  fibres  is  really  a  key-board,  and  that  each 
6bre  is  set  in  vibration  only  by  a  particular  musical  note, 
exactly  as  an  A-tuning-fork  is  set  vibrating  when  A  ia 
Bounded  near  it,  but  not  when  any  other  note  is  sounded. 
The  auditory  nerve,  in  passing  into  the  cochlea,  branches  into 
an  immense  number  of  nerve-filaments,  each  of  which  com- 
municates with  one  of  the  kej^s  of  this  ear- piano.     So  that 


62  COSMIC  PHILOSOPEY.  [pr.  U. 

when   A  is  sounded  on  a  musical  instrument,  the  A-key 
within  the  ear  vibrates,  and  transmits  its  vibrations  to  a 
special  filament  of  the  auditory  nerve.     If   this   view   be 
correct,  we  have  here  a  truly  marvellous  instance  of   dif- 
ferentiation.    But  now  in  what  way  can  this  structure  have 
ever  been  useful  to  human  beings  in  the  struggle  for  life  ? 
Doubtless  a  considerable  power  of  discriminating  sounds  is 
useful  to  any  animal,  but  of  what  use  can  it  be  to  distinguish 
between  A  and  A- sharp  ?     We  may  safely  conclude,  I  think, 
that  survival  of  the  fittest  has  played  quite  a  secondary  part 
in  this  case.     The  explanation  must  be  sought  in  the  direct 
effects  wrought  by  auditory  vibrations  upon  the  molecular 
structure  of  the  cochlear  fibres.    And  it  is  a  system  of  effects 
which  has  not  even  yet  been  wrought  in  its  present  complete- 
ness save  among  highly  civilized  people,     A  savage  cannot 
distinguish  the  slight  variations  in  pitch  by  which  our  ears 
are  delighted.     And  even  among  ourselves  there  are   ears 
which   can    neither   in   melody   discriminate   between    the 
ascending    and    the    descending   gamut,   nor    in   harmony 
distinguish  between  the   mellifluous   tonic   chord   and    the 
harsh  inversions  of  the  minor  ninth.     The  defect  may  be 
compared  to  that  of  colour-blindness,  although  it  is  probably 
more  common  because  the  ear  has  been  far  less  thoroughly 
trained  than  the  eye.     Now  when  we  consider  how  much  can 
be  effected  by  individual  training  in  enabling  a  moderately 
good  ear    to    discriminate   between   quarters,   eighths,   and 
smaller  fractions    of  a  tone,  and   bear  in  mind  that  this 
training  must  consist  in  the  further  differentiation   of  the 
sensitive  cochlear  fibres,  we  have  a  strong  argument  in  favour 
of  the  production   of    this    wonderful  structure   by  direct 
adaptation  alone. 

Concerning  the  human  eye  I  need  only  say  that  in  the 
retina  it  presents  a  structure  closely  analogous  to  the  ear- 
piano  just  described.  The  chief  layer  of  the  retina  is  com- 
posed of  little  rods  of  nerve-tissue,  packed  closely  togethej 


CH.  XII.]    ADJUSTMENT,  DIRECT  AND  INDIRECT.  63 

like  organ-pipes ;  and  it  is  probable  that  each  of  these  rods 
vibrates  in  unison  with  a  particular  ray  of  light.^  Here  is  a 
case  of  extreme  differentiation  just  like  that  witnessed  in  the 
ear ;  and  substantially  the  same  argument  will  apply  to  it. 
The  survival  of  a  primeval  savage  in  the  struggle  for  life 
would  certainly  depend  to  a  considerable  extent  on  his  ability 
to  discriminate  certain  colours  as  well  as  outlines  by  the 
eye,  as  also  upon  his  ability  to  recognize  the  twibre  or  quality 
of  certain  sounds.  But  the  power  of  distinguishing  the 
delicate  shades  in  a  painting  of  Correggio  could  be  no  more 
useful,  from  a  zoological  point  of  view,  than  the  power  of 
appreciating  the  most  subtle  harmonic  effects  in  a  symphony 
of  Schumann.  For  this  extreme  differentiation  there  would 
seem  to  be  no  assignable  cause  save  the  direct  action  of 
luminous  waves  upon  the  wonderfully  sensitive  and  responsive 
nerve-tissue  of  civilized  man. 

Were  it  needful  for  the  further  illustration  of  our  position, 
I  might  show  how  Mr,  Spencer  has  proved  that  the  structure 
of  vertebral  columns  is  also  primarily  due  to  directly  adaptive 
changes.  Many  peculiarities  in  the  shapes  of  plants  and 
animals  are  probably  thus  to  be  explained.  And  in  regard 
to  the  hues  of  organisms — those  phenomena  which  are  so 
beautifully  explained  by  the  Darwinian  theory — there  are 
some  exceptions  to  be  cited.  The  magnificent  tints  of  many 
corals,  of  certain  caterpillars,  and  of  the  shells  of  sundry 
luollusks,  must  undoubtedly  be  due  to  the  direct  working  of 
such  chemical  affinities  as  produce  our  wonderful  aniline 
dyes,  or  the  rich  tints  of  our  American  autumn  woods. 

But  passing  over  all  these  interesting  points,  enough  has 
been  said  to  show  that  there  are  many  phenomena  o^  organic 
evolution  which  natural  selection,  when  considered  alone, 
will  not  suffice  to  account  for.     But,  with  the  amendments 

^  This  is  the  opinion  of  Helmholtz,  the  gi-eatest  living  authority  ;  and  it  in 
Btren<,'tl!ened  by  Dr.  Brown  Seqiiard's  discovery  of  the  number  of  fibres  lu  th« 
■piual  cord  which  are  specialized  for  the  reception  of  particular  seL'sationa. 


64  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [n.  ii. 

now  agreed  upon,  there  may  be  framed  an  outline  of  a 
tolerably  complete  classification  of  agencies.  Let  us  reduce 
to  a  common  form  of  expression  the  agencies  contemplated 
in  this  and  in  the  two  preceding  chapters. 

Considered  in  the  widest  sense,  the  processes  which  we 
have  seen  to  cooperate  in  the  evolution  of  organisms  are  all 
processes  of  equilibration  or  adjustment.  From  the  dyna- 
mical point  of  view,  as  has  been  shown  in  previous  chapters, 
an  organism  is  a  complex  aggregate  of  matter,  in  which  per- 
manent structural  and  functional  differentiations  and  inte- 
grations are  rendered  possible  by  the  fact  that  it  continually 
receives  about  as  much  motion  as  it  expends.  Now  a  state 
in  which  expended  motion  is  continually  supplied  from 
without,  is  called  a  state  of  dependent  moving  eq^uilibrium. 
In  other  words,  it  is  a  state  in  which  every  change  in  the 
distribution  of  external  forces  must  be  met  by  a  change  in 
the  distribution  of  internal  forces,  in  order  that  the  equili- 
brium may  be  preserved.  This  is  the  case  with  every 
organism.  Its  life  is  a  perpetual  balancing  of  external 
forces  by  internal  forces.  And  the  complete  accomplishment 
of  this  end  requires  also  that  there  shall  be  a  continuous 
internal  equilibration, — a  perpetual  balancing  of  forces  opera- 
tive in  the  different  parts  of  the  organism.  Thus  the  career 
of  an  organism,  or  of  a  group  of  organisms,  consists  of  two 
kinds  of  equilibration,  which  we  may  briefly  designate  as 
external  and  internal  equilibration.  And  a  moment's  con- 
sideration will  show  us  that  each  of  these  kinds  of  equilibra- 
tion may  be  either  direct  or  indirect.  The  adjustment  of  a 
group  of  organisms  to  changing  external  circumstances  is 
effected  partly  by  such  direct  adaptations  as  we  have  above 
considered,  partly  by  the  destruction  of  all  those  members  of 
the  group  which  do  not  become  directly  adapted.  In  this 
latter  way  equilibrium  is  maintained  indirectly  ;  and  natural 
selection,  or  survival  of  the  fittest,  may  be  accurately  cha- 
racterized as  "  indirect  equilibration."     Turning  now  to  the 


CH.  xn.]     ADJUSTMENT,  DIRECT  AND  INDIRECT,  65 

internal  processes,  we  see  that  direct  equilibration  "v^hich 
consists  in  continually  arranging  all  the  units  of  the  organism 
in  accordance  with  their  physiological  polarities,  exemplified 
alike  in  heredity  and  in  correlation  of  growth.  On  the  other 
hand  the  dwindling  and  final  evanescence  of  organs  which 
are  disused,  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  nutritive  material  is 
all  needed  by  the  other  organs  which  are  in  constant  use  ; 
and  it  may  accordingly  be  regarded  as  an  indirect  method 
of  preserving  the  internal  equilibrium  of  the  organism.  The 
process  of  organic  evolution  may  therefore  be  summarized 
as  follows : 


External 


Direct    •     .     Adaptation, 
Indirect      •    Natural  Selection. 


(internal  *    '  \  Correlation  of  Growth, 

(  Indirect      .     Use  and  Disuse. 

Here  we  have  a  classification  of  agencies  coextensive  with 
our  present  knowledge  of  the  subject,  and  sufficiently  com- 
prehensive to  include  such  factors  in  the  problem  as  may 
hereafter  be  discovered.  Under  one  of  these  four  sub-divi- 
sions every  special  process  concerned  in  forwarding  organic 
evolution  must  be  included.  For  since  it  is  admitted  on  all 
sides  that  specific  change  is  due  to  the  necessity  for  main- 
taining equilibrium  between  the  organism  and  the  environ- 
ment, it  follows  that  every  process  which  results  in  the 
modification  of  species  must  be  a  process  of  adjustment 
or  equilibration,  either  external  or  internal,  direct  or  in- 
direct. In  the  scientific  treatment  of  the  problem,  there  is 
room  for  much  beside  natural  selection,  but  there  is  no  room 
for  occultce  vires,  or  pantheistic  intelligences,  or  for  "ten- 
iencies,"  save  such  as  may  be  expressed  as  the  unneutrahzed 
iurplus  of  forces  acting  in  a  particular  direction. 

But  we  have  now  done  something  more  than  merely  to 
classify  the  causes  of  organic  evolution.  In  the  act  of 
classif)ang  these,  we  have  arrived   at  the  law  or  formula 

VOL,  II.  F 


66  COSMIG  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

which  expresses  the  chief  characteristic  of  organic  evolution. 
We  have  reached  the  all-important  truth  that  the  progress  of 
life  on  the  globe  has  been  the  continuous  equilibration  of  the 
organism  with  its  environment.  We  need  now  only  go  a 
step  farther  in  order  to  obtain  a  formula  which  will  not  only 
express  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  Life  itself,  but 
will  also  serve  as  an  immediate  basis  for  our  iu(^uiries  into 
the  phenomena  of  mind  and  of  society. 


CHAPTER  Xllt 

LIFE    AS     ADJUSTMEirT. 

One  of  the  cardinal  propositions  of  Mr,  Spencer's  system  of 
philosophy  is  the  definition  of  Life,  first  published  in  1855, 
in  his  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  but  now  transferred  to  the 
first  volume  of  his  "Principles  of  Biology."  According  to 
Mr.  Spencer,  the  continuous  maintenance  of  an  equilibrium 
between  the  organism  and  its  environment  is  the  process  in 
which  life  essentially  consists.  Life — including  also  intel- 
ligence as  the  highest  known  manifestation  of  life — is  the 
continuous  establishment  of  relations  within  the  organism, 
in  correspondence  with  relations  existing  or  arising  in  the 
environment.^     Out  of  the  host  of  illustrations  by  which 

^  The  full  definition  runs  thus  : — "  Life  is  the  definite  combination  of 
heterogeneous  changes,  both  simultaneous  and  successive,  in  correspondence 
with  external  coexistences  and  sequences."  This  is  incomparably  the  most 
profound  and  complete  definition  of  Life  that  has  ever  been  framed ;  and  the 
cliapter  in  which  it  is  set  forth  and  illustrated  Avo«ld  alone  entitle  Mr.  Spencer 
to  a  place  among  the  greatest  thinkers  that  have  ever  lived.  The  objection 
has  indeed  been  raised,  in  metaphysical  quarters,  that  this  is  a  definition,  not 
of  Life,  but  of  the  circumstances  or  accidents  in  which  Life  is  manifested. 
Concerning  this  objection,  we  may  content  ourselves  with  the  following  re- 
-larks  by  Mr.  Lewes.  Both  Life  and  Mind,  says  Mr.  Lewes,  are  processes. 
'  Neither  is  a  substance  ;  neither  is  a  force.  To  speak  of  Vitality  as  a  sub- 
stance would  shock  all  our  ideas ;  but  many  speak  of  it  as  a  force.  They 
might  with  equal  propriety  hold  Mortality  to  be  a  force.  What,  then,  la 
meant  by  Vitality,  or  vital  forces  ?  If  the  abstraction  be  resolved  into  its 
concretes,  it  will  be  seen  that  a  certain  process,  or  group  of  processes,  is  con- 
densed into  a  simple  expression,  and  the  final  result  of  this  process  is  trans* 

?  2 


68  COSMIC  PHILOSOFHY.  [pt.  n 

tills  formula  is  justified,  it  will  be  sufficient  for  our  present 
purpose  to  select  but  one  or  two.  "  The  stinging  and  con- 
tractile powers  of  a  polyp's  tentacle  correspond  to  the  sensi- 
tiveness and  strength  of  the  creatures  serving  it  for  prey. 
Unless  that  external  change  which  brings  one  of  these 
creatures  in  contact  with  the  tentacle  were  quickly  followed 
by  those  internal  changes  which  result  in  the  coiling  and 
drawing  up  of  the  tentacle,  the  polyp  would  die  of  inani- 
tion. The  fundamental  processes  of  integration  and  dis- 
integration within  it  would  get  out  of  correspondence  with 
the  agencies  and  processes  without  it ;  and  the  life  would 
cease."  So  in  higher  animals,  "  every  act  of  locomotion  im- 
plies the  expenditure  of  certain  internal  mechanical  forces, 
adapted  in  amounts  and  directions  to  balance  or  out-balance 
certain  external  ones.  The  recognition  of  an  object  is  impos- 
sible without  a  harmony  between  the  changes  constituting 
perception,  and  particular  properties  coexisting  in  the  en- 
vironment. Escape  from  enemies  supposes  motions  within 
the  organism,  related  in  kind  and  rapidity  to  motions  without 
it.  Destruction  of  prey  requires  a  particular  combination  of 
subjective  actions,  fitted  in  degree  and  succession  to  overcome 
a  group  of  objective  ones.  And  so  with  those  countless 
automatic  processes  exemplified  in  works  on  animal  instinct." 
And  similarly,  as  will  appear  still  more  clearly  when  we 
come  to  treat  especially  of  the  evolution  of  intelligence, 
"  the  empirical  generalization  that  guides  the  farmer  in  his 
rotation  of  crops,  serves  to  bring  his  actions  into  concord 
■vith  certain  of  the  actions  going  on  in  plants  and  soil ;  and 
the  rational  deductions  of  the  educated  navigator  who  calcu- 
lates his  position  at  sea,  constitute  a  series  of  mental  acts  by 

posed  from  a  resultant  into  an  initial  condition,  the  name  given  to  the  whole 
group  of  phenomena  becomes  the  personification  of  the  phenomena,  and  the 
product  is  supposed  to  have  been  tbe  producer.  In  lieu  of  regarding  vital 
actions  as  the  dynamical  results  of  their  statical  conditions,  the  actions  ar« 
personified,  and  the  personification  comes  to  be  regarded  as  indicating  some< 
thing  independent  of  and  antecedent  to  the  concrete  facts  it  ox'^resses."— • 
Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,  vol.  1.  p.  110. 


rM.  xiii.]  LIFE  AS  ADJUSTMENT,  69 

which  his  proceedings  are  conformed  to  surrounding  circum- 
stances." 

We  practically  recognize  the  truth  of  this  definition  of 
life  when  we  attempt  to  ascertain  whether  an  animal  is  dead 
or  alive  by  poking  it  with  a  stick.  If  it  responds  by  motions 
of  its  own,  we  judge  it  to  be  alive  ;  if  it  merely  moves  as  the 
stick  pushes  it,  we  judge  it  to  be  dead.  So  we  decide  whether 
a  tree  is  alive  or  dead  by  observing  whether  the  increased 
supply  of  solar  radiance  in  spring  causes  those  internal 
motions  which  result  in  the  putting  forth  of  leaves.  In 
'  these  cases  we  recognize  the  truth  "  that  the  alteration 
wrought  by  some  environing  agency  on  an  inanimate  object 
does  not  tend  to  induce  in  it  a  secondary  alteration,  that 
anticipates  some  secondary  alteration  in  the  environment. 
But  in  every  living  body  there  is  a  tendency  towards 
secondary  alterations  of  this  nature;  and  it  is  in  their  pro- 
duction that  the  correspondence  consists." 

This  formula  for  vital  phenomena  is  further  illustrated 
and  justified  by  the  fact  that  the  degree  of  life  is  low  or 
high,  according  as  the  correspondence  between  internal  and 
external  relations  is  simple  or  complex,  limited  or  extensive, 
partial  or  complete,  imperfect  or  perfect.  The  lowest  forms 
>f  life  respond  only  to  the  simpler  and  more  homogeneous 
changes  which  affect  their  total  environment.  The  relations 
established  within  a  plant  answer  only  to  the  presence  or 
absence  of  a  certain  quantity  of  light  and  heat,  and  to  the 
chemical  and  hygrometric  relations  existing  in  the  envelop- 
ing atmosphere  and  subjacent  soil.  In  a  polyp,  besides 
general  relations  similar  to  these,  certain  more  special  rela- 
tions are  established  in  correspondence  with  the  external 
existence  of  mechanical  irritants;  as  when  its  tentacles 
contract  on  being  touched.  The  increase  of  extension 
acquired  by  the  correspondences  as  we  ascend  the  animal 
Bcale,  may  be  seen  by  contrasting  the  polyp,  which  can 
simply  distinguish  between  soluble  and  insoluble  matters, 


70  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [ft.  n 

or  "between  opacity  and  translucence  in  its  environment, 
with  the  keen-scented  bloodhound,  and  the  far-sighted 
vulture.  And  the  increase  of  complexity  may  be  appre- 
ciated by  comparing  the  motions  respectively  gone  through 
by  the  polyp  on  the  one  hand,  and  by  the  dog  and  vulture 
on  the  other,  while  securing  and  disposing  of  their  prey.  In 
the  next  chapter  it  will  be  shown  that  the  advance  from 
lower  to  higher  forms  of  life  consists  in  the  orderly  establish- 
ment of  relations  within  the  organism,  answering  to  external 
relations  of  coexistence  and  sequence,  that  are  continually 
more  special,  more  remote  in  space  and  in  time,  and  more' 
heterogeneous  ;  until  at  last  we  reach  civilized  man,  whose 
intelligence  responds  to  every  variety  of  external  stimulus, 
whose  ordinary  needs  are  supplied  by  implements  of  amazing 
complexity,  and  whose  mental  sequences  may  be  determined 
by  circumstances  as  remote  as  the  Milky  Way  and  as  ancient 
as  the  birth  of  the  Solar  System. 

"When  viewed  under  this  aspect  the  phenomena  of  life  and 
of  intelligence  are  so  similar  that  it  is  diSicult  to  keep  them 
separate  in  our  series  of  illustrations.  As  we  proceed  to 
treat  of  psychology,  we  shall  much  better  appreciate  the 
importance  of  the  truth  which  I  am  now  expounding. 
Eestricting  ourselves  here,  as  far  as  possible,  to  physiological 
illustrations,  let  us  note  that  in  any  organism  life  continues 
just  so  long  as  relations  in  the  environment  are  balanced  by 
internal  relations,  and  no  longer.  The  difference  in  result 
between  a  jump  from  a  horse-car  and  a  jump  from  an 
express  train  running  at  full  speed,  depends  simply  on  the 
difference  in  the  ability  of  the  contracting  muscles  to  neu- 
tralize a  small  or  a  large  quantity  of  arrested  momentum. 
The  motor  energy  with  which  the  head  is  carried  forward 
antil  it  strikes  the  ground,  is  exactly  the  surplus  of  external 
force  to  which  the  organism  has  failed  to  oppose  an  internal 
force.  If  the  resulting  concussion  of  the  brain  is  not  so 
great  a?  to  induce  instant  death,  but  ouly  causes  inflamm* 


CH.  xin.]  LIFE  AS  ADJUSTMENT,  71 

tion,  with  temporary  loss  of  consciousness,  then  the  con- 
tinuance of  life  will  depend  upon  the  ability  of  the  molecular 
forces  within  tlie  organism  to  bring  about  a  redistribution  of 
matter  and  motion  which  shall  balance  the  sudden  redistri- 
bution caused  by  the  blow.  Dynamical  pathology  regards 
all  diseases  as  disturbances  of  the  internal  equilibrium  of 
the  organism,  and  recovery  is  the  restoration  of  the  equili- 
brium. The  avoidance  of  c'-inger  is  the  coordination  of 
certain  actions  in  anticipation  of  more  or  less  complex 
relations  about  to  arise  without.  If  disease  and  danger  be 
successfully  avoided,  the  death  which  ensues  in  old  age  is 
due  to  the  diminished  plasticity  of  the  organism  which 
renders  it  incapable  of  responding  to  external  changes.  As 
we  saw  when  treating  of  the  primary  aspects  of  Evolution 
and  Dissolution,  the  evolution  of  the  body,  even  to  the  close 
of  life,  is  characterized  by  the  integration  of  its  constituent 
matter,  shown  in  the  increasing  proportion  of  solids  to  fluids 
which  makes  the  bones  brittle,  the  muscles  stiff,  and  the 
nerves  sluggish.  Death  from  old  age  ensues  just  when  the 
consequent  molecular  immobility  has  reached  the  point  at 
which  incident  forces  can  no  longer  be  balanced  by  internal 
rearrangements. 

A  paragraph  will  suffice  for  the  exposition  of  this  formula 
of  life  in  connection  with  the  general  law  of  evolution. 
That  the  evolution  of  life  upon  the  earth,  beginning  with 
innumerable  jelly-like  patches  of  protoplasm,  like  the 
monera  discovered  by  Prof.  Haeckel,  and  ending  with  more 
than  two  million  species  of  plants  and  animals  such  as 
naturalists  classify,  has  been  a  change  from  homogeneity  to 
heterogeneity,  will  be  denied  by  no  one.  Nor  is  it  needful 
to  repeat,  save  for  form's  sake,  what  was  sufficiently  illus- 
trated in  an  earlier  chapter, — that  the  higher  forms  are  also 
those  in  which  the  various  orders  of  integration  are  most 
completely  exemplified.  We  need  only  to  note  that  the 
continuous  adjustment  of  the  organism  to  its  environment, 


72  COSMIC  PEILOSOPSY.  [pt.  ii. 

in  which  process  we  have  seen  that  life  consists,  must  ne- 
cessitate both   the  differentiation  of    the  organism  and  the 
integration  or  definite   combination   of  the  changes  which 
constitute  its  activity.     For  as  the  life  becomes  higher  the 
environment  itself  increases  in  heterogeneity  as  well  as  in 
extent.     The  environment  of  a  fresh-water  alga  is,  as  Mr. 
Spencer  remarks,  limited  to  the  ditch  or  pool  in  which  the 
alga  lives.     The  acaleph  borne  along  on  a  wave  of  the  sea 
has  a  much  more  homogeneous  environment  than  the  cater- 
pillar which  crawls  over  leaves ;  and  the  actions  by  which 
the  caterpillar  must  "  meet  the  varying  effects  of  gravita- 
tion," are  far  more  heterogeneous  than  the  actions  of  the 
acaleph.      In  the  case  of  the  higher  animals,  not  only  is 
their  environment  extremely  heterogeneous  as  consisting  to 
a  great  extent  of  adjacent  organisms  which  stand  to  them  in 
the  relations  of  enemies,  competitors,  or  prey ;  but  it  also 
presents  highly  coordinated   actions    on  the  part  of  these 
organisms,  which  must  be  met  by  highly  coordinated  actions 
on  the  part  of  the  former.     Thus  with  the  increase  of  the 
organism  in   heterogeneity,  definiteness,  and  coherence,  its 
environment  increases  in  heterogeneity  and  presents  more 
definite  and  coherent  relations  to  which  the  organism  must 
adjust  itself.    And  in  this  way  the  heterogeneous,  definite, 
and   coherent  activity  of  the  organism  is  again  enhanced. 
The  corollary  from  this  group  of  truths  is  one  which  will 
nearly  concern  us  when  we  come  to  treat  of  the  Evolution 
of  Society :  it  is  this, — the  greater  the  amount  of  progress 
already  made,  the  more  rapidly  must  progress  go  on. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

LIFE  AND  MIND. 

Before  we  proceed  to  treat  of  psychical  life  as  tLe  con- 
tinuons  establishment  of  subjective  relations  that  are  in 
correspondence  with  environing  objective  relations,  we  must 
dispose  of  certain  questions  which  have  been  raised  by 
Comte  and  his  disciples  concerning  the  right  of  psychology 
to  be  regarded  as  an  independent  science.  Part  of  Comte's 
plan  for  the  renovation  of  philosophy  was  the  rescuing  of 
psychology  from  the  exclusive  control  of  metaphysicians. 
The  manner  in  which  he  proposed  to  accomplish  the  rescue 
is  only  too  briefly  described  :  he  simply  denied  in  toto  the 
claims  of  psychology  to  be  regarded  as  an  independent 
science.  According  to  Comte  there  can  be  no  science,  worthy 
of  the  name,  founded  upon  the  observation  and  comparison 
of  states  of  consciousness ;  and  psychology  must  therefore 
be  studied  as  a  part  of  biology,  by  the  aid  solely  of  the 
methods  used  in  biology.  That  is,  the  study  of  mind  must 
be  reduced  to  the  study  of  nervous  phenomena  simply.  It 
is  easy  to  say  that  the  inevitable  outcome  of  this  is  the 
unqualified  assertion  of  materialism.  But  as  Comte  himself 
never  drew  such  an  inference,  and  always  protested  ener- 
getically against  materialism,  as  based  upon  illegitimate 
inferences  from  the  study  of  nervous  phenomena,  it  would 


74  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

not  be  fair  in  us  to  draw  the  inference  for  him  and  then 
upbraid  him  with  it.  This  kind  of  misrepresentation  is  dear 
to  theologians,  and  we  may  contentedly  leave  them  an  entire 
monopoly  of  it.  But  worse  remains  behind.  Having  con- 
demned psychological  analysis  as  useless,  Comte  offers  us  in 
exchange  the  ludicrous  substitute — Phrenology  I 

Of  all  the  scientific  blunders  which  Comte  ever  made,  this 
was  beyond  question  the  one  which  has  done  most  to  injure 
his  credit  with  competent  scientific  critics.  Yet  in  fairness 
we  must  remember  that  Comte's  ignorance  of  psychology  waa 
his  weakest  point,  and  that  forty  years  ago,  when  the  anatomy 
and  physiology  of  the  nervous  system  were  in  their  infancy 
the  conception  of  dividing  the  grey  surface  of  the  cerebrum 
into  thirty  or  more  provinces,  each  the  seat  of  a  complex 
group  of  mental  aptitudes,  did  not  seem  so  absurd  as  it  does 
now.  In  those  days  even  Broussais,  a  first-class  physiologist, 
adopted  some  of  the  leading  doctrines  of  phrenology.  More- 
over the  fundamental  conception  of  Gall — which  included 
the  anatomical  comparison  of  all  animal  brains,  in  con- 
nection with  the  study  of  the  mental  characteristics  of 
animals — was  a  noble  conception  ;  though  in  working  it  out 
he  showed  himself  lamentably  ignorant  of  the  plainest  rules 
of  induction.  The  purposes  of  our  inquiry  do  not  render  it 
necessary  for  me  to  discuss  the  merits  of  a  hypotliesis  which 
has  long  since  ceased  to  be  of  any  interest,  save  as  an  episode 
in  the  early  history  of  physiological  psychology.  Those  who 
wish  to  see  the  question  treated  critically  may  be  referred  to 
the  works  of  Miiller,  Valentin,  Wagner,  Vulpian,  Gratiolet, 
Longet,  and  especially  of  Lelut ;  to  the  appendix  to  Hamil- 
ton's "  Lectures  on  Metaphysics  " ;  to  the  chapter  on  Gall  in 
INTr.  Lewes's  "History  of  Philosophy";  and  to  Mr.  Bain's 
treatise  on  "The  Study  of  Character." 

It  is  not  Comte's  acceptance  of  phrenology,  but  his  denial 
of  psychology,  which  here  concerns  us.  The  former  is  merely 
a  personal  question,  bearing  upon  Comte's  scientific  com« 


OH.  xif.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  7B 

petence;  the  latter  is  a  question  of  general  interest.  "We 
may  note  at  the  outset  that  many  contemporary  posi- 
tivists  differ  from  Comte  on  this  point.  It  is  generally 
agreed  that  a  science  may  be  founded,  even  if  it  has  not 
already  been  founded,  upon  the  observation  and  comparison 
of  states  of  consciousness ;  though  there  is  some  disagree- 
ment as  to  the  position  of  that  science  with  reference  to  tho 
other  sciences.  Mr.  Lewes,  for  instance,  misled  by  his  general 
adherence  to  the  Comtean  classification  of  the  sciences,  re- 
gards psychology  as  a  subdivision  of  biology,  on  the  ground 
that  the  phenomena  of  consciousness  are  merely  a  special 
division  of  the  phenomena  of  life.  This  is,  in  one  sense,  true ; 
so  true,  indeed,  as  to  be  fatal  to  the  conclusion  which  it  is 
meant  to  support.  For  it  may  be  said,  with  equal  truth,  that 
the  phenomena  of  life  are  but  a  subdivision  of  the  pheno- 
mena presented  by  the  surface  of  our  contracting  and  cooling 
planet ;  so  that  it  might  equally  well  be  argued  that  biology 
is  only  a  subdivision  of  geology.  And  again  it  may  be  said 
that  geologic  phenomena  are  only  a  subdivision  of  the  general 
phenomena  presented  by  the  condensation  of  a  nebula ;  so 
that  geology  is  only  a  branch  of  astronomy.  Yet  it  could 
hardly  be  said  that  psychology  is  a  mere  branch  of  astro- 
nomy ;  so  that  here  we  seem  to  have  reached  a  redudio 
ad  absurdum. 

But  by  travelling  back  over  the  course,  we  shall  get  out 
of  the  difficulty,  and  not  only  see  why  psychology  has  as 
good  a  right  as  any  other  branch  of  inquiry  to  be  ranked  as 
an  independent  science,  but  also  see  why  it  must  needs  be 
partly  founded  upon  an  observation  and  comparison  of  states 
of  consciousness.  Let  us  then,  having  reached  the  primeval 
nebula,  begin  our  journey  backwards. 

Our  position  is  explained  by  the  consideration  that  all  the 
synthetic  concrete  sciences  are  but  adjacent  tracts  of  one 
general  science, — Cosmology.  "Practically,  however,  they 
are  distinguishable  as  successively  more  specialized  parts  of 


7«  cosine  PHILOSOFIJY.  [pt.  ii. 

the  total  science — parts  furtlier  specialized  hj  the  intro- 
duction of  additional  factors.  The  astronomy  of  the  solar 
system  is  a  specialized  part  of  that  general  astronomy  which 
includes  our  whole  sidereal  system ;  and  becomes  specialized 
by  taking  into  account  the  revolutions  and  rotations  of 
planets  and  satellites.  Geology  is  a  specialized  part  of  this 
special  astronomy  ;  and  becomes  specialized  by  joining  with 
the  effects  of  the  earth's  molar  motions,  the  effects  of  con- 
tinuous decrease  in  its  internal  molecular  motion,  and  the 
effects  of  the  molecular  motion  radiated  from  the  sun.  Bio- 
logy is  a  specialized  part  of  geology,  dealing  with  peculiar 
aggregates  of  peculiar  chemical  compounds  formed  of  the 
earth's  superficial  elements — aggregates  which,  while  exposed 
to  these  same  general  forces  molar  and  molecular,  also  exert 
certain  general  actions  and  reactions  on  one  another.  And 
psychology  is  a  specialized  part  of  biology,  limited  in  its 
application  to  a  higher  division  of  these  peculiar  aggregates, 
and  occupying  itself  exclusively  with  those  special  actions 
and  reactions  which  they  display,  from  instant  to  instant,  in 
their  converse  with  the  special  objects,  animate  and  inani- 
mate, amid  which  they  move."  ^ 

This  last  point  is  one  which  requires  further  illustration. 
Concisely  expressed,  it  amounts  to  this — that  psychology  is 
distinguished  by  dealing  in  a  particular  way  with  the  rela- 
tions between  the  organism  and  its  environment,  A  few 
illustrations  will  render  this  perfectly  intelligible ;  will  show 
as  that  mere  nervous  physiology  is  not,  and  never  can  be, 
psychology. 

Nervous  physiology  treats  of  relations  subsisting  within 
the  organism.  It  explains  how  waves  of  molecular  motion, 
Bet  up  in  a  nerve-centre  and  transmitted  along  a  nerve-axis^ 
cause  contraction  in  the  fibres  of  a  muscle,  or  secretion  in  a 
gland,  or  molecular  rearrangement  in  the  substance  of  the 
tissues,  or  sets  up  a  new  molecular  undulation  in  some  othei 
^  Spencer,  Priticiplea  of  Psychology,  vol.  i  pp.  137,  133. 


CH.  xiv.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  77 

nerve-centre.  It  seeks  to  formulate  the  conditions  under 
which  nervous  stimulation  and  nervous  discharge  take  place. 
Or  it  shows  how  certain  feelings  are  invariably  sequent  upon 
certain  rearrangements  of  the  molecules  composing  the  nerve- 
substance.  Even  if  it  recognizes,  as  it  does  continually  recog- 
nize, some  force  external  to  the  organism,  which  causes  the 
molecular  rearrangement  and  the  resultant  feeling,  it  never- 
theless does  not  concern  itself  with  the  relation  between  the 
external  cause  and  the  internal  effect,  but  only  with  the 
internal  effect. 

Now,  as  Mr.  Spencei  has  forcibly  pointed  out,  "  so  long  as 
we  state  facts  of  which  all  the  terms  lie  within  the  organism, 
our  facts  are  anatomical  or  physiological,  and  in  no  degree 
psychological.  Even  though  the  relation  with  which  we  are 
dealing  is  that  between  a  nervous  change  and  a  feeling,  it  is 
still  not  a  psychological  relation  so  long  as  the  feeling  is 
regarded  merely  as  connected  with  the  »ervous  change,  and 
not  as  connected  with  some  existence  lying  outside  the 
organism.  .  .  .  For  that  which  distinguishes  psychology  from 
the  sciences  on  which  it  rests,  is,  that  each  of  its  propositions 
takes  account  both  of  the  connected  internal  phenomena  and 
of  the  connected  external  phenomena  to  which  they  refer. 
In  a  physiological  proposition  an  inner  relation  is  the  essential 
subject  of  thought;  but  in  a  psychological  proposition  an 
outer  relation  is  joined  with  it  as  a  coessential  subject  of 
thought.  A  relation  in  the  environment  rises  into  coordinate 
importance  with  a  relation  in  the  organism.  The  thing  con- 
templated is  now  a  totally  different  thing.  It  is  not  the 
.onnection  between  the  internal  phenomena,  nor  is  it  the 
lonnection  between  the  external  phenomena;  but  it  is  the 
tonnedion  between  these  two  connections.  A  psychological  pro- 
position is  necessarily  compounded  of  two  propositions,  of 
which  one  concerns  the  subject  and  the  other  concerns  the 
object;  and  cannot  be  expressed  without  the  four  terms  which 
these  two  propositions  imply.     The  distinction  may  be  best 


78  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [n.  ii. 

explained  by  symbols.     Suppose  tliat  A  and  b  are  two  re. 

lated  manifestations  in  tlie  environment — say,  the  colour  and 
taste  of  a  fruit;  then,  so  long  as  we  contemplate  their  rela- 
tion by  itself,  or  as  associated  with  other  external  phenomena, 
we  are  occupied  with  a  portion  of  physical  science.  Now 
suppose  that  X  and  Y  are  the  sensations  produced  in  the 
organism  by  this  peculiar  light  which  the  fruit  reflects,  and 
by  the  chemical  action  of  its  juice  on  the  palate ;  then,  so 
long  as  we  study  the  action  of  the  light  on  the  retina  and 
optic  centres,  and  consider  how  the  juice  sets  up  in  other 
centres  a  nervous  change  known  as  sweetness,  we  are  occu- 
pied with  facts  belonging  to  the  science  of  physiology.  But 
we  pass  into  the  domain  of  psychology  the  moment  we 
inquire  how  there  comes  to  exist  within  the  organism  a  rela- 
tion between  x  and  Y  that  in  some  way  or  other  corresponds 
to  the  relation  between  A  and  B.  Psychology  is  exclusively 
concerned  with  this  connection  between  A  B  and  x  Y  :  it  has 
to  investigate  its  nature,  its  origin,  and  its  meaning."^ 

It  is  true,  as  the  last  chapter  showed  us,  that  biology  also 
presupposes  a  reference  to  phenomena  outside  the  organism, 
the  very  definition  of  Life  being  "the  continuous  adjustment 
of  internal  relations  to  external  relations";  so  that  Mind  here 
appears  to  be  but  the  highest  form  of  Life.  We  see  here  the 
difficulty  of  sharply  demarcating  adjacent  provinces  of  na- 
ture. Nevertheless  there  is  a  broad  distinction,  though  not 
a  sharp  one.  Exclude  from  biological  problems  all  those 
adjustments  which  constitute  mental  reaction  upon  the  en- 
vironment, and  the  only  external  factors  remaining  are  those 
general  conditions  of  temperature,  moisture,  food  and  the 
like,  which  are  taken  for  granted  once  for  all.  "While  in  each 
special  problem  of  psychology,  the  relation  between  internal 
and  external  relations  is  the  main  subject  of  inquiry  ;  on  the 
other  hand  in  special  problems  of  biology,  the  relation  be- 
tween the  internal  processes  and  these  general  external 
*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  i.  p.  132. 


BH.  XIV.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  79 

factors  is  not  the  chief,  hut  a  suhordinate,  suhject  of  inquiry. 
Digestion,  for  instance,  implies  food ;  and  "  food  implies 
neighbouring  plants  or  animals  ;  but  this  implication  scarcely 
enters  into  our  study  of  digestion,  unless  we  ask  the  quite 
special  question — how  the  digestive  organs  become  fitted  to 
the  materials  they  have  to  act  upon."  But  a  moment's  intro- 
spection will  make  it  clear  to  everyone,  "that  he  cannot 
frame  any  psychological  conception  without  looking  at  in- 
ternal coexistences  and  sequences  in  their  adjustments  to  ex- 
ternal coexistences  and  sequences.  If  he  studies  the  simplest 
act  of  perception,  as  that  of  localizing  a  touch  in  some  part 
of  his  skin,  the  indispensable  terms  of  his  inquiry  are : — on 
the  one  hand  a  thing  (1)  and  a  position  (2),  both  of  which  he 
regards  as  objective  ;  and  on  the  other  hand  a  sensation  (3), 
and  a  state  of  consciousness  constituting  his  apprehension  of 
position  (4),  both  of  which  he  regards  as  subjective.  Or,  if 
he  takes  for  his  problem  one  of  his  complex  sentiments,  as 
that  of  justice,  he  cannot  represent  to  himself  this  sentiment, 
or  give  any  meaning  to  its  name,  without  calling  to  mind 
actions  and  relations  supposed  to  exist  in  the  environment : 
neither  this  nor  any  other  emotion  can  be  aroused  in  con- 
sciousness even  vaguely,  without  positing  something  beyond 
consciousness  to  which  it  refers."^ 

Let  us  observe,  in  passing,  that  these  considerations  are 
quite  incompatible  with  Materialism.  The  doctrine  of  the 
materialists  rests  partly  on  the  assumption  that  the  study  of 
the  laws  of  nervous  action  can  give  us  a  complete  account  of 
mental  phenomena.  But  we  have  seen  that  to  understand 
the  simplest  act  of  perception,  we  must  take  into  the  account 
.-ot  only  the  subjective  and  the  objective  factors,  but  the 
relation  between  the  two.  It  is  this  relation  which  consti- 
tutes the  perception.  But  this  relation  exists  only  in  con- 
sciousness, and  we  cannot  explain  it  save  by  direct  observation 
Df  consciousness.  Push  our  researches  in  biology  as  far  as 
'  Spencer,  Frinci^les  of  Psychology,  voL  L  p.  133. 


80  COSMIG  PHILOSOPHY,  [ft.  ii, 

we  may,  the  most  we  can  ever  ascertain  is  that  certain  nerve- 
changes  succeed  certain  other  nerve-changes  or  certain  ex- 
ternal  stimuli  in  a  certain  definite  order.  But  all  this  of 
itseK  can  render  no  account  of  the  simplest  phenomenon  of 
consciousness.  As  Mr.  Spencer  well  says,  "  such  words  as 
ideas,  feelings,  memories,  volitions,  have  acquired  their  several 
meanings  through  self-analysis,  and  the  distinctions  we  make 
between  sensations  and  emotions,  or  between  automatic  acts 
and  voluntary  acts,  can  be  established  only  by  comparisons 
among,  and  classifications  of,  our  mental  states.  The  thoughts 
and  feelings  which  constitute  a  consciousness,  and  are  abso- 
lutely inaccessible  to  any  but  the  possessor  of  that  con- 
sciousness, form  an  existence  that  has  no  place  among  the 
existences  with  which  the  rest  of  the  sciences  deal.  Though 
accumulated  observations  and  experiments  have  led  us  by 
a  very  indirect  series  of  inferences  to  the  belief  that  mind 
and  nervous  action  are  the  subjective  and  objective  faces  of 
the  same  thing,  we  remain  utterly  incapable  of  seeing,  and 
even  of  imagining,  how  the  two  are  related.  Mind  still 
continues  to  us  a  something  without  any  kinship  to  other 
things." 

Thus  we  conclude  that  psychology — though,  from  the 
objective  point  of  view,  it  may  be  regarded  as  a  branch  of 
biology  in  the  same  abstract  sense  in  which  biology  may  be 
regarded  as  a  branch  of  geology,  and  geology  as  a  branch  of 
astronomy — has  nevertheless  an  equal  claim  with  any  of 
these  to  be  ranked  as  a  distinct  science.  From  the  sub- 
jective point  of  view  it  has  a  superior  claim  to  any  of  the 
others.  Since  here  the  phenomena  studied  are  directly  given 
in  the  consciousness  of  the  investigator,  there  arises  a  dis- 
tinction more  fundamental  than  those  by  which  the  various 
departments  of  objective  science  are  marked  off  from  each 
other.  And,  indeed,  without  some  of  the  data  furnished  by 
this  unique  subjective  science,  it  is  impossible  to  obtain  ths 
premises  of  philosophy  ;  as  will  at  once  be  Admitted,  on 


CH.  X!V.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  81 

recollecting  the  topics  which  occupied  us  in  the  first  part  of 
this  work.  Psychology  is  therefore  distinct  alike  from  biology 
and  from  other  sciences,  in  its  problems  and  in  its  theorems. 
The  problem  of  biology  is  to  formulate  the  laws  of  nutri- 
tion and  reproduction,  muscular  contraction  and  nervous 
irritation,  heredity  and  adaptation.  The  problem  of  psy- 
chology is  to  formulate  the  laws  of  Association, — the  order 
in  which  certain  relations  among  environing  phenomena  give 
rise  to  certain  corresponding  relations  among  our  states  of 
consciousness.  And  while  the  theorems  of  objective  science 
in  general  are  based  upon  the  observation  of  objective  phe- 
nomena, whether  external  or  internal  to  the  organism;  the 
theorems  of  psychology  are  based  not  only  upon  the  obser- 
vation of  objective  phenomena,  but  also  upon  the  observation 
of  subjective  states. 

In  view  of  these  results,  we  see  how  hopelessly  Comte 
went  astray.  Eejecting  all  introspection  as  metaphysical 
and  delusive,  he  would  have  had  us  confine  our  inquiries  to 
the  succession  of  those  nervous  phenomena  which  are  the 
invariable  concomitants  of  feelings,  ignoring  the  fact  that 
without  introspective  observation  we  can  never  even  ascertain 
that  there  is  any  invariable  concomitance  between  the  feel- 
Vngs  and  the  nervous  phenomena.  He  would  have  us  solve 
a,  problem  in  which  two  factors  are  concerned,  by  investi- 
gating only  one  factor. 

In  giving  his  reasons  for  thus  rejecting  all  observation  of 
consciousness,  Comte  reveals  his  inability  (upon  which  I 
have  already  frequently  remarked)  to  distinguish  between 
psychology  and  metaphysics.  He  insists  that  psychologic 
mquiry,  as  hitherto  conducted,  has  not  resulted  in  discovery. 
If  this  were  true,  it  would  not  help  his  case.  Metaphysical 
^:)sychologists  have  failed  in  discovery,  not  because  they  have 
directly  examined  states  of  consciousness,  but  because  they 
have  constructed  unverifiable  hypotheses  about  the  nature  of 
Vlind  in  itself     Where  they  have  abstained  from  ontological 

VOL.  IL  O 


82  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHT.  [pt.  lu 

inquiries,  and  have  contented  themselves  with  scientific 
methods,  psychologists  have  made  discoveries.  To  say 
nothing  of  such  recent  inquirers  as  Bain,  Wundt,  Fechner, 
and  Taine,  it  may  be  fairly  claimed  that,  among  older  specu- 
lators, Hobbes,  Locke,  Leibnitz,  Berkeley,  Hume,  Kant,  and 
Hartley,  have  by  psychologic  analysis  made  real  and  per- 
manent contributions  to  our  knowledge  of  mental  operations. 
And  at  the  very  date  when  Comte  was  preparing  his  great 
treatise  for  publication,  there  appeared  a  remarkable  book 
which,  by  establishing  some  of  the  fundamental  laws  of 
Association,  went  far  toward  placing  psychology  upon  a 
scientific  basis.  It  is  not  to  the  crude  and  superficial  Gall, 
as  Comte  would  have  us  believe,  that  we  must  give  the 
respect  due  to  the  founder  of  scientific  psychology  :  that 
respect  is  due,  in  far  greater  degree,  to  James  jNIill,  the  illus- 
trious author  of  the  "  Analysis  of  the  Human  Mind." 

Nevertheless,  while  psychology  is  a  science  clearly  distinct 
from  biology,  dealing  with  phenomena  which  may  be  classed 
as  super-organic,  and  using  introspective  observation  as  one 
of  its  main  implements  of  inquiry,  it  is  no  more  than  any 
other  an  absolutely  independent  science.  Since  the  pheno- 
Qiena  of  Mind  are  never  manifested  to  us  save  in  connection 
with  the  phenomena  of  Life,  and  since  the  same  general 
formula  expresses  the  fundamental  characteristics  of  the  two 
Ijroups  of  phenomena,  it  follows  that  no  complete  science  of 
psychology  can  be  constituted  without  the  aid  of  biology. 
The  conclusions  reached  by  the  analysis  of  subjective  states 
must  be  shown  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  conclusions 
reached  by  the  synthesis  of  objective  phenomena,  before  the 
scientific  interpretation  of  ]\Iind  can  be  regarded  as  entirely 
satisfactory.  The  force  of  this  statement  becomes  at  once 
apparent,  when  we  recollect  that  introspective  observation 
can  inform  us  only  concerning  the  mental  processes  which 
go  on  m  adult  civilized  men.  In  order  to  understand  the 
genesis  of  these  mental  processes,  we  need  the  assistance  ol 


CH.  XIV.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  83 

objective  psychology  and  of  nervous  physiology ;  we  need 
to  compare  the  mental  processes  observed  in  adult  civilized 
men,  with  the  mental  processes  observed  or  inferred  in 
civilized  children,  in  adult  barbarians,  and  in  the  lower 
animals,  down  to  those  humble  organisms  in  which  the  phe- 
nomena of  intelligence  first  become  differentiated  from  the 
phenomena  of  organic  life.  The  immense  advance  which  haa 
been  made  in  mental  science  during  the  past  forty  years,  has 
been  mainly  due  to  the  practical  recognition  of  this  fact. 
Treatises  on  psychology  are  no  longer  solely  based  upon  an 
analysis  of  what  happens  when  "  I  see  the  inkstand," 
although  analyses  of  this  sort  are  still,  as  is  here  maintained, 
indispensable.  The  nervous  system,  in  its  ascending  com- 
plications from  the  amphioxus  to  man,  is  now  taken  into 
the  account.  The  normal  variations  in  psychical  manifes- 
tation, in  the  various  human  races,  from  childhood  to  old 
age,  are  taken  into  the  account.  The  abnormal  variations 
caused  by  stimulknts  and  narcotics,  as  well  as  those  ex- 
hibited in  epilepsy,  insanity,  and  other  forms  of  nervous 
disease,  are  taken  into  the  account.  And  careful  investi- 
gations into  the  ways  in  which  different  organisms  respond 
to  external  stimuli,  show  us  that  the  lower  forms  of  psy- 
chical activity  are  no  longer  neglected.  While  the  analysis 
of  complex  mental  operations  has  been  pushed  to  an  extent 
which  until  lately  would  have  been  deemed  impracticable, 
on  the  other  hand  the  sub-science  of  psychogeny,  dealing 
with  the  origin  of  the  various  manifestations  of  mental 
activity,  has  arisen  to  coordinate  importance  with  subjective 
)sychology.  It  has  become  generally  recognized  that — in- 
ffaceable  as  is  the  distinction  between  the  phenomena  of 
consciousness  and  all  other  phenomena — nevertheless  the 
one  as  well  as  the  other  can  be  scientifically  explained, 
only  when  present  manifestations  are  studied  in  their  con- 
nection with  past  manifestations.  In  this  domain,  as  in 
all  others,  the  Law  of  Evolution  holds  sway. 

G  2 


S4  COSMIC  FHILOSOFHY,  [ft.  il 

Let  us  now,  in  accordance  with  these  general  considera- 
tions, begin  by  contemplating  the  phenomena  of  Mind  as 
gradually  differentiated  from  the  phenomena  of  Life  ;  reserv- 
ing for  another  chapter  the  interpretation  of  sundry  psycho- 
logical truths  in  terms  of  the  law  of  evolution.     And  first 
let  us  reconsider  the  definition  of    life  which  was  briefly 
illustrated   in   the   preceding   chapter.      We    saw   that   life 
essentially  consists  in  the  continuous  adjustment  of  relations 
within  the  oroanism  to  relations  in  the  environment.     And 
we  saw  that  the  degree  of  life  is  low  or  high,  according  as 
the  correspondence  between  internal  and  external  relations  is 
limited  or  extensive,  partial  or  complete,  simple  or  complex. 
We  saw  that  the  lowest  forms  of  life  respond  to  the  changes 
going  on  about  them  only  iu  a  simple,  imperfect,  and  general 
way.     A  tree,  for  instance,  meeting  by  changes  within  itself 
none  but  physical  and  chemical  changes  which  occur  with 
general  uniformity  in  the  environment,  exhibits  life  in  a  very 
simple  and  unobtrusive  form.     We  habitually  regard  it  as 
less   alive   than  a  polyp,  because   the  polyp,  by  displaying 
nascent  sensitiveness  and  contractility,  .responds  to  a  greater 
variety  of  more  special  external  stimuli.     Yet  the  polyp, 
possessing  no  specialized  organs  of  sense,  can  oppose  but  one 
sort  of  action  to  many  diverse  kinds  of  impression.     Pheno- 
mena  so  different  as  those  of   light  and  heat;,  sound  and 
mechanical  impact,  can  affect  it  in  but  one  or  two  ways, — by 
3ausing  it  to  move,  or  by  slightly  altering  its  chemical  con- 
dition.    The  modes  of  response  to  outer  relations  are  few  and 
homogeneous.  Passing  abruptly  to  civilized  man,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  animal  scale,  we  find  a  different  state  of  things. 
To  each  kind  of  external  stimulus  there  are  many  possible 
modes  of  response.     Not  only,  for  example,  does  the  human 
organism    sharply   distinguish    between    variations    which 
affect  the  eye  and  those  which  affect  the  ear ;  not  only  do 
eye  and  ear,  which  are  themselves  organs  of  amazing  com- 
plexity, discern  an  endless  number   of  differing  tones  and 


CH.  xn.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  88 

hues,  as  well  as  a  great  variety  of  intensities  and  qualities  ; 
but  each  particular  manifestation  of  sound  or  of  light  is 
capable  of  arousing  in  the  organism  very  different  psychical 
combinations,  entailing  different  muscular  actions,  according 
to  circumstances.  Tennyson's  traveller,  who,  walking  at 
nightfall  in  a  strange  land,  hears  the  moaning  of  a  distant  sea, 

•*  And  knows  not  if  it  be  thunder,  or  a  sound 
Of  rocks  thrown  down,  or  one  deep  cry 
Of  great  wild  beasts," 

will  adopt  a  course  of  action  more  or  less  in  conformity  with 

environing  relations,  according  to  the  degree  of  his  sagacity 
and  the  extent  of  his  experience.  Streaks  of  light  and 
strata  of  cloud  in  the  horizon  will  lead  the  practised  mariner 
and  the  unskilled  passenger  to  different  conclusions.  A 
cartoon  of  Eaphael  or  a  symphony  of  Beethoven  will  excite 
different  emotions  in  an  artist  and  in  a  person  of  feeble 
impressibility.  And  from  the  swinging  of  a  cathedral  lamp 
the  young  Galileo  drew  inferences  which  had  escaped  the 
attention  or  baffled  the  penetration  of  thousands  of  less 
acute  beholders.  Thus,  with  civilized  man,  the  modes  of 
response  to  outer  relations  are  almost  infinitely  numerous  and 
heterogeneous. 

But  now,  in  this  briefly  indicated  contrast  between  the 
lowest  and  highest  extremes  of  life,  regarded  as  a  correspond- 
ence between  the  organism  and  the  environment,  we  have 
j'assed  abruptly  from  vital  relations  which  are  purely  physical 
to  vital  relations  which  are  almost  purely  psychical.  The 
relations  contemplated  have  been,  in  each  of  the  instances, 
relations  internally  set  up  in  adjustment  to  external  relations. 
But  while  the  relations  set  up  within  the  tree  are  simply 
physico-chemical ;  and  while  the  relations  set  up  within  the 
polyp,  though  involving  nascent  sensitiveness,  are  neverthe- 
less, in  the  absence  of  specialized  nerve-matter,  unattended 
by  consciousness,  and  therefore  cannot  strictly  be  classed  as 
psychical ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  relations  set  up  withm 


86  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  u, 

civilized  man  are  almost  purely  psychical,  involving  (inly  such 
physico-chemical  elements  as  are  necessitated  by  the  fact 
that  conscious  activity  does  not  go  on  unattended  by  molecular 
changes  in  nerve-tissue.  It  appears,  therefore,  that  while  in 
the  vegetal  world,  and  in  the  lower  regions  of  the  animal 
world,  the  life  is  purely  or  almost  purely  physico-chemical, 
it  becomes  more  and  more  predominantly  psychical  as  wo 
ascend  in  the  animal  world,  until  at  the  summit  it  is  mainly 
psychical.  The  continuous  adjustment  of  inner  to  outer 
relations,  which  both  constitutes  life  and  maintains  it  from 
moment  to  moment,  is  a  process  which,  at  first  purely 
physiological,  becomes  ever  more  distinctly  psychological. 

From  the  facts  of  comparative  anatomy  we  may  elicit  a 
parallel  truth.     In  standard  works  on  human  anatomy  it  is 
customary  to  distinguish  between  the  vegetative  organs,  (com- 
prising the  nutritive  and  reproductive  systems,)  which  are 
developed  from  the  endoderm  of  the  embryo,  and  the  animal 
organs,  (comprising  the  nervo-muscular  system,)  which  are 
developed  from  the  ectoderm.     Not  unfrequently  these  are 
otherwise    and    more    appropriately   distinguished    as    the 
nutritive  and  relational  systems ;   the  special  office  of    the 
former  being  the  integration  of  nutritive  material,  in  behoof 
either  of  the  organism  or  of  its  derivative  offspring,  while  the 
special  office  of  the  latter  is  the  maintenance  of  relations 
between  the  organism  and  the  environment.     The  demarca- 
tion is  thoroughly  distinct,  but  it  is  not  absolute ;  since  the 
relations  each  moment  set  up  even  in  the  nutritive  system 
must    correspond    with    certain    general    relations    of    air, 
temperature,  and  assimilable  material  in  the  environment. 
Now  we  have  to  note  that  in  the  vegetal  world  such  general 
correspondences  are  all    that  are  established ;   there  is  no 
system  of  organs  differentiated  for  the  purpose  of  maintaining 
an  equilibrium  of  relations  with  the  environment.     In  such 
simply  organized  animals  as  the  polyp  there  is  no  differentia- 
tion of  relational  tissues  or  organs  ;  but  the  entire  surface  oJ 


CH.  XIV.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  87 

the  animal,  besides  maintaining  such  general  correspondences 
as  characterize  vegetal  life,  exhibits  in  a  slight  degree  the 
irritability  and  contractility  which  in  higher  creatures  are 
specialized  in  those  tissues  which  form  the  relational  organs. 
In  the  molluscoida,  the  property  of  irritability  being  localized 
in  a  few  nerve-threads  uniting  in  ganglionic  masses,  and  the 
property  of  contractility  being  specialized  in  a  parallel 
manner,  there  is  rendered  possible  that  more  special  mode  of 
response  to  environing  agencies,  known  as  reflex  action.  In 
the  lower  vertebrata,  the  integration  of  numerous  adjacent 
ganglia  into  a  medulla,  having  connections  with  various  parts 
of  the  organism,  renders  possible  a  much  more  perfectly 
coordinated  series  of  responses  to  external  stimuli.  And  at 
the  same  time  the  development  of  a  pair  of  pedunculated 
ganglia  from  the  upper  portion  of  the  medulla,  is  attended 
by  the  ability  to  compound  the  impressions  which  the  medulla 
receives ;  so  that  it  becomes  possible  for  the  correspondences 
to  extend  in  space  and  time.  As  we  ascend  through  the 
vertebrate  sub-kingdom,  the  growth  of  these  pedunculated 
ganglia — the  cerebrum  and  cerebellum — becomes  more  and 
more  the  predominant  characteristic  of  the  nervous  system ; 
and  at  the  same  time  the  power  of  adjusting  inner  relations 
to  remote,  special,  and  complex  relations  increases.  Finally 
when  we  come  to  man,  in  whom  the  correspondences  have 
reached  a  marvellous  degree  of  heterogeneity,  extent,  and  de- 
finiteness,  we  find  not  only  that  the  relational  system  of  organs 
is  the  dominant  fact  in  his  organization, but  also  thatthe  system 
of  pedunculated  cephalic  ganglia  is  the  dominant  fact  in  the 
relational  system  of  organs.  Not  only  is  the  nutritive  life 
quite  subordinated  to  the  specially  relational  life,  but  the 
lower  modes  of  the  relational  life,  such  as  reflex  action  and 
■jistinct,  are  quite  subordinated  to  those  higher  modes,  such 
as  thought  and  emotion,  which  are  made  possible  by  the 
great  extent  to  which  the  cerebrum  and  cerebellum  carry  the 
compounding  of  impressions  received  in  the  medulla.     In 


88  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.i^ 

order  to  realize  with  vividness  how  completely  human  life  has 
come  to  mean  the  higher  psychical  life,  let  us  try  to  imagine 
what  life  would  be  without  the  cerebrum  and  cerebellum 
Yet  from  the  biological  point  of  view  these  systems  of  ganglia 
though  nearly,  are  not  quite,  absolutely  essential  to  human 
life;  since  the  less  complex  acts  and  impressions  are  still 
coordinated  after  they  have  been  destroyed  by  disease,  and 
since  infants,  born  without  any  brain  save  the  medulla  and 
basal  ganglia,  have  been  known  to  live  for  a  short  time.  Such 
a  deprivation  of  the  higher  relational  activities  naturally 
seems  to  us  almost  equivalent  to  deprivation  of  life. 

We  may  now  more  thoroughly  appreciate  the  force  of  the 
distinction  between  the  provinces  of  biology  and  of  psy- 
chology, which  was  stated  in  the  earlier  part  of  this  chapter. 
We  see  that  while  life,  physical  and  psychical,  is  the  con- 
tinuous adjustment  of  inner  to  outer  relations,  nevertheless 
in  the  lowest  forms  of  life,  unaccompanied  by  mind,  the 
outer  relations  to  which  adjustment  is  made  are  exceedingly 
general,  and  the  correspondence  is  simple,  direct  and  homo- 
geneous. But  as  we  pass  to  forms  somewhat  higher,  we  find, 
along  with  this  simple  correspondence  maintained  by  the 
whole  organism,  a  number  of  more  complex,  indirect,  and 
special  correspondences,  for  the  establishment  and  main- 
tenance of  which  there  is  differentiated  a  particular  relational 
structure.  As  the  correspondence  increases  in  complexity, 
in  indirectness,  and  in  speciality,  the  maintenance  of  it  is 
confined  more  and  more  to  this  specialized  nervo-muscular 
structure ;  and  the  enormously  heterogeneous  series  of  ad- 
justments which  eventually  goes  on  becomes  distinguished 
from  the  relatively  homogeneous  series  of  adjustments  which 
has  all  along  been  going  on,  as  psychical  life  in  contrast  with 
physical  life.  Thus  by  a  regular  process  of  evolution  it 
happens  that,  while  at  the  outset  the  psychical  life  is  but 
a  slight  extension  of  the  correspondence  which  constitutes 
the  physical  life,  at  the  end  the  correspondence  which  con« 


CH.  XIV.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  89 

stitutes  the  psychical  life  is  all  in  all,  and  the  processes  of 
physical  life  come  to  be  regarded  as  entirely  subordinate 
to  the  maintenance  of  this  higher  correspondence. 

Let  us  now  briefly  trace  the  various  extensions  and  com- 
plications of  the  correspondence  as  it  becomes  more  hetero- 
geneous, definite,  and  coherent.  Scanty  justice  can  here  be 
done  to  the  subject,  since  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  compress 
into  half-a-dozen  pages  the  substance  of  a  series  of  illus- 
trations, which  in  Mr.  Spencer's  exceedingly  condensed 
exposition  fill  a  hundred  pages.  Nevertheless  a  few  striking 
facts  may  be  noted  down,  which  will  serve  to  assist  in  the 
comprehension  of  the  process.  Let  us  first  note  that  in  the 
simplest  forms  of  life  the  correspondence  extends  "  only  to 
external  relations  which  have  one  or  both  terms  in  contact 
with  the  organism.  The  processes  going  on  in  the  yeast- 
plant  cease  unless  its  cell-wall  is  bathed  by  the  saccharine 
and  other  matters  on  whose  affinities  they  depend.  .  .  .  And 
80  too  among  the  lowest  animals,  the  substances  to  be 
assimilated  must  come  in  collision  with  the  organism  before 
a,ny  correspondence  between  inner  and  outer  changes  is 
shown."  The  correspondence  is  similarly  limited  in  time. 
The  tree,  which  puts  forth  its  leaves  from  year  to  year,  does 
so  only  in  response  to  luminous  and  thermal  changes  which 
occur  contemporaneously.  The  polyp's  tentacles  contract 
only  in  response  to  immediately  present  stimuli.  "  Alike  in  all 
these  forms  of  life,  there  is  an  absence  of  that  correspondence 
between  internal  relations  and  distant  external  relations  " — 
in  space  and  time — which  we  see  exhibited  in  higher  forms. 

Now  the  extension  of  the*  correspondence  in  space  is 
effected  by  the  gradual  differentiation  of  organs  of  sense. 
One  of  the  most  notable  achievements  of  modern  biology  is 
the  discovery — due  among  others,  to  Huschke,  Eemak. 
Milne-Edwards,  and  Huxley — that  all  the  sense-organs  are 
but  successive  modifications  of  tactile  structures,  or  rather, 
of  those    simple    dermal    structures   which   in  the  higher 


90  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [n.  n. 

organisms  are  specialized  as  tactile.  Tlie  most  perfect 
orsfans  of  touch  are  the  vihrissce  or  whiskers  of  the  cat, 
which  act  as  long  levers  in  communicating  impulses  to  the 
nerve-fibres  that  terminate  in  clusters  about  the  dermal 
sacs  in  which  they  are  inserted.  Yet  these  whiskers  are 
merely  specialized  forms  of  just  such  hairs  as  those  which 
cover  the  bodies  of  most  mammals,  and  which  are  found 
evanescent  upon  the  human  skin,  embedded  in  minute  sacs 
or  re-entrant  folds.  Now  it  is  a  demonstrated  fact  that  the 
eye  and  ear  are  morphologically  identical  with  vihrissce.  The 
bulb  of  the  eye  and  the  auditory  chamber  are  nothing  but 
extremely-metamorphosed  hair-sacs,  and  the  same  is  true  of 
the  olfactory  chamber.  The  crystalline  lens  is  a  differentiated 
hair,  the  aqueous  and  vitreous  humours  are  liquefied  dermal 
tissue,  and  the  otolites  of  the  ear  are  "  concretions  from  the 
contents  of  an  epidermic  sac."  In  view  of  these  astounding 
disclosures  of  embryology,  we  may  readily  assent  to  Mr. 
Spencer's  statement  that  modern  science  justifies  the  guess  of 
Demokritos,  "  that  all  the  senses  are  modifications  of  touch." 
From  a  single  sense,  more  or  less  diffused  over  the  surface  of 
the  body,  and  capable  of  establishing  correspondences  only 
with  agencies  in  direct  contact  with  the  body,  there  have 
arisen,  by  slow  differentiations,  such  localized  senses  as  sight 
and  hearing,  which  serve  to  enlarge  the  environment  and 
establish  correspondences  with  agencies  more  and  more  re- 
mote. Let  us  briefly  consider  the  sense  of  sight,  omitting 
hearing,  as  well  as  smell  and  taste,  since  our  space  is  too 
limited  to  deal  with  tliem  properly. 

In  such  lowly  organized  cfeatures  as  the  hydra  the  ability 
to  distinguish  between  light  and  darkness,  or  between  sun- 
shine and  shadow,  is  possessed  in  a  slight  degree  by  the 
entire  surface  of  the  body.  But  vision  can  haidly  be  said 
to  exist,  even  in  its  most  rudimentary  aspect,  until  this 
sensibility  is  "concentrated  in  a  particular  spot.  The  rudi- 
mentary eye  consisting,  as  in  a  planaria,  of  some  pigment 


OH.  xiy.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  91 

grains,  may  be  considered  as  simply  a  paitof  the  surface  more 
irritable  by  light  than  the  rest.  Some  idea  of  the  impression 
it  is  fitted  to  receive  may  be  formed  by  turning  our  closed 
eyes  towards  the  light,  and  passing  the  hand  backwards  and 
forwards  before  them."  But  while  this  localization  of  sen- 
sibility enables  the  creature  to  adapt  itself  to  the  movements 
of  neighbouring  opaque  bodies,  the  extension  of  the  corre- 
spondence is  nevertheless  very  slight.  To  produce  noticeable 
obscuration  the  opaque  object  must  approach  very  near ;  and 
hence  "  we  may  infer  that  nascent  vision  extends  to  those 
objects  alone  which  are  just  about  to  touch  the  organism, 
....  so  that  it  amounts  at  first  to  little  more  than  anti- 
cipatory touch."  ^  As  we  pass  to  higher  forms,  we  find  the 
eye  gradually  increasing  in  translucence,  acquiring  convexity 
of  surface,  liquefying  internally  into  refracting  humours, 
while  the  nerve-vesicles  within  multiply  and  arrange  them- 
selves as  retinal  rods  ;  the  result  being  seen  in  the  gradually 
increasing  power  of  the  organism  to  adapt  its  actions  to 
actions  occurring  at  a  distance.  The  process  and  the  result 
of  development  are  essentially  the  same  in  the  case  of 
hearing  and  smell,  though  there  are  great  differences  in  the 
degrees  to  which  these  senses  are  developed  in  the  highest 
animals. 

Further  extension  of  the  correspondence  is  eff'ected,  in 
the  higher  vertebrates,  by  the  increase  in  size  and  complexity 
of  the  cerebrum  and  cerebellum.  These  pedunculated  groups 
of  ganglia,  which  issue  from  the  medulla,  and  whose  function 
it  is  to  compound  in  higher  and  higher  aggregates  the 
ftlready-compound  impressions  received  by  the  medulla,  are 
capable  of  adjusting  inner  relations  to  outer  relations  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  organs  of  sense.  "Chased  animals  that 
make  their  way  across  the  country  to  places  of  refuge  out  of 
view,  are  obviously  led  by  combinations  of  past  and  present 
Impressions  which  enable  them  to  transcend  the  sphere  of  the 
*  Speacer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  toL  L  pp.  314,  315. 


92  COSMIC  PEILOSOPET.  [pt.  it. 

senses."  And  in  man,  by  the  aid  of  science,  the  correspon- 
dence is  extended  not  only  over  the  entire  surface  of  the 
earth,  but  through  all  visible  space  ;  witness  the  facts  that 
telegraphic  reports  enable  purchasers  in  New  York  to  adapt 
their  actions  to  prices  in  London,  and  that  the  inferences  of 
astronomers  are  modified  in  accordance  with  chemical  changes 
going  on  in  remote  nebulae. 

Along  with  the  extension  of  the  correspondence  in  space 
there  goes  on  an  extension  in  time,  resulting  in  an  enormous 
increase  of  the  psychical  life.  Under  their  more  simple  forms 
the  two  kinds  of  extension  go  on  together.  The  rudimentary 
eye,  which  enables  the  organism  to  anticipate  the  contact  of 
an  approaching  opaque  body,  may  serve  to  illustrate  the 
primitive  connection  between  adjustments  to  external  co- 
existences and  adjustments  to  external  sequences.  And  it  ia 
obvious,  without  concrete  illustration,  that  in  general  the 
more  remote  are  the  outer  relations  to  which  inner  relations 
are  adjusted,  the  longer  will  be  the  interval  by  which  the 
adjustment  may  be  made  to  anticipate  the  group  of  outer 
relations  which  it  is  designed  to  balance.  But  it  is  only  in 
the  higher  vertebrates,  whose  cephalic  ganglia  are  sufficiently 
large  and  complex  to  enable  them  to  form  ideal  representa- 
tions of  outer  relations  not  immediately  present,  that  there  is 
witnessed  a  decided  extension  of  the  correspondence  in  time. 
Dogs  and  foxes  exhibit  a  well-marked  anticipation  of  future 
events,  in  hiding  food  to  be  eaten  hereafter.  But  it  is  first 
in  the  human  race  that  such  foresight  becomes  highly  con- 
spicuous ;  and  the  difference  between  civilized  and  savage 
men  in  tliis  respect  is  probably  even  more  marked  than  the 
difference  between  savage  men  and  the  higher  allied  mam- 
mals. There  are  strong  reasons  for  believing  that  the  more 
complex  correspondences  in  time  are  chiefly  effected  by  the 
cerebrum,  while  the  more  complex  correspondences  in  space 
are  chiefly  effected  by  the  cerebellum.  And  if  this  be  the 
case,  we  may  understand  why  it  ^fi  that  in  the  course  ol 


rn.  XIV.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  93 

human  progress  the  increase  of  the  cei'ebrum  in  size  and 
complexity  has  been  so  much  greater  than  the  increase  of 
the  cerebellum.  In  no  other  respect  is  civOized  man  so 
widely  distinguished  from  the  savage,  as  in  his  habitual 
adjustment  of  his  daily  actions  to  contingencies  likely  to 
arise  in  a  more  or  less  distant  future.  But  here  we  touch 
upon  an  important  tbeorem  of  sociology,  which  I  shall  here- 
after consider  at  greater  length. 

Next  let  us  note  that  the  extension  of  the  correspondence 
in  space  and  in  time  is  accompanied  by  a  progressive  increase 
in  the  speciality  of  the  correspondence.  Manifestly  the 
differentiation  of  sense-organs  which  renders  possible  the 
adjustment  of  inner  relations  to  distant  outer  relations,  also 
renders  possible  the  adjustment  of  inner  relations  to  outer 
relations  that  are  more  and  more  speciah  Increased  width  of 
retina  enhances  the  power  of  estimating  the  size  of  neigh- 
bouring objects,  since  the  differences  in  the  visual  areas 
which  they  occupy  will  become  more  clearly  appreciable.  The 
multiplication  of  retinal  rods  enhances  the  power  of  estimat- 
ing shape,  since  differently  shaped  objects  affect  different 
numbers  and  different  combinations  of  these  rods.  Thus 
while  animals  with  rudimentary  vision,  in  becoming  aware  of 
the  presence  of  approaching  objects,  can  recognize  them  only 
as  objects,  on  the  other  hand  an  animal  with  developed 
vision,  in  recognizing  objects  near  or  distant,  can  also 
distinguish  between  innumerable  differences  in  their  sizes 
and  shapes,  and  can  make  a  proportionally  great  number  of 
special  adaptations  in  its  conduct.  It  is  similar  with  the 
ability  to  distinguish  colours,  and  to  estimate  direction  by 
the  eye.  And  from  the  growing  heterogeneity  of  the  other 
senses,  we  might  draw  parallel  illustrations,  were  there  room 
for  them.  Finally  the  high  development  of  the  cephalic 
ganglia,  rendering  possible  the  compounding  of  ideal  repre- 
sentations of  objects  and  relations  not  present  to  sense, 
increases  to  an  enormous  degree  the  speciality  of  the  adjust- 


14  COSMIC  PHILOSOFET.  [pt.  ll. 

ments.  Siicli  special  adjustments  are  seen  in  the  cases  of 
"  the  lion  that  goes  to  the  river-side  at  dusk  to  lie  in  wait  for 
creatures  coming  to  drink,  and  the  house-dog  standing  outside 
the  door  in  expectation  that  some  one  will  presently  open  it." 
But  the  increase  in  speciality  of  adjustment  is  most  con- 
spicuously exemplified  in  the  progress  of  the  human  race ;  as 
is  seen  by  contrasting  the  savage  who  sharpens  his  arrows  in 
expectation  of  the  periodic  flight  of  certain  birds,  with  the 
astronomer  who  at  a  given  day,  hour,  and  minute,  adjusts  his 
telescope  to  watch  a  transit  of  Venus. 

In  the  life  of  the  highest  animals,  and  especially  in  the 
life  of  the  human  race,  characterized  as  it  is  by  the  predomin- 
ant activity  of  the  great  cephalic  ganglia,  there  is  witnessed 
an  increase  in  the  generality  of  the  correspondence,  parallel 
with  the  increase  in  speciality.  As  this  topic  falls  almost 
entirely  within  the  province  of  sociology,  the  illustration 
of  it  must  be  reserved  for  a  future  chapter.  Let  it  here 
suffice  to  recall  the  fact,  already  mentioned,  (Part  I.  Chap,  viii.,) 
that  the  progress  of  human  knowledge  has  all  along  been 
equally  characterized  by  analysis  and  by  synthesis, — by  the 
differentiation  implied  in  the  recognition  of  relations  that  are 
more  and  more  special,  as  well  as  by  the  integration  implied 
in  the  grouping  of  relations  in  classes  that  are  more  and  more 
generaL 

Along  with  the  increase  of  the  correspondence  in  spatial 
and  temporal  remoteness,  in  speciality  and  in  generality,  there 
is  a  continuous  increase  in  complexity.  Indeed,  in  the  various 
aspects  of  psychical  progress  already  contemplated,  this 
aspect  has  been  continually  illustrated.  Obviously  the 
development  of  sense-organs,  while  widening  the  environ- 
ment and  increasing  the  number  of  relations  to  which  the 
organism  may  adjust  itself,  enhances  also  the  complexity  of 
the  adjustments.  Contrast  the  simple  movements  of  the 
planaria  when  an  opaque  object  passes  before  its  rudimentary 
eye,  with  the  complex  movements  of  a  cat  when  a  mouse  is 


CH.  XIV.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  95 

heard  scratching  in  the  wainscot,  and  it  becomes  evident  that 
the  heterogeneity  of  the  impressions  received  by  an  organism 
is  paralleled  by  the  heterogeneity  of  the  adjustments  by 
which  it  responds  to  them.  The  multiplication  of  the  objects 
and  relations  of  which  any  organism  can  take  cognizance, 
involves  of  necessity  a  growing  complexity  in  the  actions  by 
which  it  adapts  itself  to  their  presence.  In  civilized  man, 
whose  immensely  developed  cephalic  ganglia  bear  witness  to 
tlie  predominance  of  psychical  over  physical  life,  this 
correlated  advance  in  heterogeneity  of  correspondence  is 
exemplified  in  the  interdependent  progress  of  science  and  art. 
Here  again  we  are  carried  into  the  domain  of  sociology,  and 
this  thread  must  be  left  to  be  gathered  up  with  the  others 
when  we  come  to  treat  of  intellectual  progress. 

It  remains  to  note  that  the  extension  of  the  correspondence 
in  space  and  time,  and  its  increase  in  definite  heterogeneity, 
both  heighten  the  degree  of  life  and  add  to  the  ability  to 
maintain  life.  On  the  one  hand,  the  more  numerous,  the 
more  complicated,  and  the  more  clearly  defined,  are  the  outer 
relations  to  which  the  organism  adapts  itself,  and  the  longer 
the  interval  of  time  by  which  the  adjustments  may  be  made 
to  forestall  external  contingencies,  the  greater  will  be  the 
number  of  heterogeneous  changes  in  which  life  consists. 
And  on  the  other  hand,  the  greater  the  number  of  hetero- 
geneous changes  by  which  the  organism  can  respond  to  outer 
changes,  the  more  easily  and  surely  will  life  be  prolonged. 
Whence,  says  Mr.  Spencer,  "  we  may  clearly  see  how  life 
and  ability  to  maintain  life,  are  two  sides  of  the  same  fact — 
how  life  is  a  combination  of  processes,  the  result  of  whose 
workings  is  their  own  continuance."  An  interesting  com- 
3ientary  on  this  proposition  is  furnished  by  Mr.  Lankester's 
recently-published  essay  on  "  Comparative  Longevity,"  in 
which  it  is  shown  that  high  individuation,  or  the  power  of 
responding  heterogeneously  to  external  changes,  is  the  chief, 
Ihough  not  the  sole,  factor  concerned  in  producing  length 


96  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.  il 

of  life.  The  amount  of  normal  longevity  in  any  species 
depends  upon  the  definite  heterogeneity  of  the  adaptation 
of  its  individual  members  to  environing  circumstances,  and 
also  upon  the  ratio  of  their  nutrition  to  their  expenditure. 
But  the  preponderant  importance  of  the  former  factor  is 
seen  in  the  fact  that,  in  spite  of  their  immensely  greater 
personal  expenditure,  the  higher  animals  are,  as  a  rule,  very 
much  longer  lived  than  the  lower  ones.  In  the  civilized 
human  races  also,  as  contrasted  with  the  savage  races,  the 
life  is  not  only  higher  in  degree  but  longer  in  duration : 
the  longevity  of  the  lowest  savages  rarely  exceeds  forty-five 
years. 

As  we  proceed  to  survey,  in  a  single  view,  the  various 
truths  here  separately  elucidated,  we  find  that  the  essential 
distinction,  above  insisted  on,  between  the  sciences  of 
biology  and  psychology,  is  thoroughly  justified  by  the  very 
facts  which  illustrate  the  close  connection  between  the  two. 
The  foregoing  exposition  conclusively  proves  that  in  dealing 
with  the  adjustments  of  inner  to  outer  actions,  biology 
"  limits  itself  to  the  few  in  which  the  outer  actions  are  those 
of  agents  in  actual  contact  with  the  organism — food,  aerated 
medium,  and  things  which  produce  certain  effects  by  touch 
(as  insects  which  fertilize  flowers) ;  thus  leaving  to  psy- 
chology all  other  adjustments  of  inner  to  outer  actions." 
"  The  moment  we  rose  to  a  type  of  creature  which  adjusts 
certain  organic  relations  to  relations  of  which  both  terms 
are  not  presented  to  its  surface,  we  passed  into  adjust- 
ments of  the  psychological  order.  As  soon  as  there  exists 
a  rudimentary  eye  capable  of  receiving  an  impression  from 
a  moving  object  about  to  strike  the  organism,  and  so  ren- 
dering it  possible  for  the  organism  to  make  some  adapted 
movement,  there  is  shown  the  dawn  of  actions  which  we 
distinguish  as  intelligent.  As  soon  as  the  organism,  feebly 
sensitive  to  a  jar  or  vibration  propagated  through  its  medium 
coQtracia  itself  so  as  to  be  in  less  danger  from  the  adjacent 


OHAP.  XIV.]  LIFE  AND  MIND.  97 

source  of  disturbance,  we  perceive  a  nascent  form  of  the  life 
classed  as  psychical.  That  is  to  say,  whenever  the  corre- 
spondence exhibits  some  extension  in  space  or  in  time,  some 
increase  of  speciality  or  complexity,  we  find  we  have  crossed 
the  boundary  between  physical  life  and  psychical  life."  * 

*  8penc«r,  Friiuytles  of  Psychology,  roL  L  p.  8S& 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  COMPOSITION  OP  MIND. 

In  pnrsTiing  the  analysis  of  a  complex  series  of  phenomena, 
with  the  object  of  ascertaining  the  simple  ultimate  elements 
of  which  the  complex  series  is  made  up,  we  shall  sometimes 
most  satisfactorily  accomplish  our  purpose  if  we  begin  with 
the  most  complicated  cases  which  the  series  presents.  After 
explaining  these  by  resolving  them  into  their  less  complex 
components,  our  analysis  "  must  proceed  similarly  with  these 
components ;  and  so,  by  successive  decompositions,  must 
descend  to  the  simpler  and  more  general,  reaching  at  last 
the  simplest  and  most  general."  Let  us  proceed,  after  this 
fashion,  to  inquire  into  the  Composition  of  Mind.  Begin- 
ning with  the  most  highly-involved  operations  of  conscious 
intelligence,  and  neglecting,  for  the  time  being,  the  con- 
sideration of  those  emotional  states  by  which  all  operations 
of  intelligence  are  to  a  greater  or  less  degree  accompanied,  let 
us  pursue  our  analysis  until  we  have  arrived  at  those  ultimate 
units  of  feeling  in  the  manifold  compounding  of  which  all  con- 
scious operations,  whether  intellectual  or  emotional,  consist. 
Beginning,  then,  with  a  somewhat  complicated  operation 
of  intelligence,  let  us  consider  the  process  by  which  an  as- 
tronomer, knowing  the  dimensions  of  the  earth,  is  enabled  to 
•jalculate  therefrom  the  distance  of  the  moon.     He  must,  la 


en.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  99 

the  first  place,  assimilate  in  thought  the  case  of  the  moon  to 
like  cases  in  which  the  distances  of  inaccessible  objects  upon 
the  earth  are  indirectly  measured.  When  a  land-surveyor 
wishes  to  ascertain  the  distance  of  a  church-tower  situated 
on  the  farther  side  of  a  river,  he  has  recourse  to  an  indirect 
method  of  measurement.  Upon  his  own  side  of  the  river  he 
first  measures  the  distance  between  two  points  sufficiently 
removed  from  each  other,  and  this  distance  he  calls  a  base- 
line. From  each  end  of  the  base-line  he  now  takes  a  sight 
at  the  inaccessible  tower,  and,  with  the  proper  instruments, 
measures  the  difference  between  its  direction  and  the  direc- 
tion of  the  base-line.  In  this  way  he  obtains  an  ideal  triangle, 
of  which  the  tower  is  the  apex ;  and,  knowing  the  length  of 
the  base-line,  and  the  value  of  the  two  angles  at  the  ends  of 
the  base-line  he  calculates  by  trigonometry  the  length  of  the 
two  sides  which  express  the  distance  of  the  tower  from  the 
ends  of  the  base-line.  Now,  the  astronomer,  imitating  this 
process,  assumes  as  a  base-line  the  known  distance  between 
two  remote  points  on  the  earth's  surface,  as  for  example 
London  and  Cape  Town ;  and  then  from  each  of  these  points 
he  proceeds  to  take  the  bearings  of  the  moon.  The  process, 
indeed,  is  here  complicated  by  the  fact  that,  owing  to  the 
long  distance,  the  inequalities  of  the  earth's  surface,  and  its 
curvature,  the  observer  at  Cape  Town  cannot  see  the  position 
of  London,  and  vice  versd.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  again 
to  resort  to  an  indirect  method,  and,  having  measured  the 
meridional  bearings  of  the  moon  from  the  north-pole  at 
London  and  from  the  south-pole  at  Cape  Town,  to  compare 
these  bearings  with  the  knowledge  that  the  bearing  of  the 
one  pole  from  the  other  is  180  degrees  or  two  right  angles. 
A  further  correction  must  be  made  for  the  fact  that  London 
and  Cape  Town  are  not  on  the  same  meridian.  But  disre- 
garding these  steps  in  the  process,  as  unnecessarily  com- 
plicating our  case,  we  have  to  note  that,  when  the  astronomer 
has  thus  indirectly  measured  the  angles  which  ideal  linea 

H  2 


100  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.  i\ 

drawn  to  tlie  moon  must  make  at  the  two  ends  of  his  long 
base-line  from  London  to  Cape  Town,  he  is  at  once  enabled, 
like  the  land-surveyor,  to  calculate  by  trigonometry  the 
lengths  of  these  ideal  lines,  and  thus  to  ascertain  the  moon's 
distance.  "What,  now,  is  the  essential  characteristic  of  the 
process  which  the  astronomer  goes  through  ?  Or,  in  other 
words,  what  is  the  fundamental  psychical  process  by  the  mani- 
fold compounding  of  which  is  built  up  this  highly-complex 
series  of  inferences  ? 

From  beginning  to  end,  the  fundamental  process  is  the 
cognition  of  the  equality  of  sundry  relations.  The  thought 
which  underlies  and  determines  the  whole  calculation  is  the 
cognition  that  the  relations  between  the  sides  and  angles  of  a 
great  triangle,  having  for  its  apex  the  moon,  and  for  its  base 
the  chord  of  the  arc  of  the  meridian  of  London  measured  to 
a  point  in  the  southern  hemisphere  upon  the  same  parallel 
with  Cape  Town,  are  equal  to  the  relations  between  the  sides 
and  angles  of  a  similar  small  triangle,  having  an  inaccessible 
tower  for  its  apex  and  a  measured  line  of  five  or  six  rods  for 
its  base ;  and  that  these  relations,  in  turn,  are  equal  to  the 
relations  between  the  sides  and  angles  of  a  still  smaller  and 
similar  triangle  which  may  be  drawn  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  and 
of  which  the  sides  and  angles  may,  if  necessary,  be  directly 
measured.  Now,  this  cognition  implies  the  previous  establish- 
ment, in  the  calculator's  mind,  of  sundry  cognitions  of  the 
equalities  and  inequalities  of  certain  relations  between  the 
sides  and  angles  of  triangles.  To  show  briefly  how  such 
cognitions  have  been  established,  let  ns  cite  the  simplest  case 
— that  in  which  the  two  angles  at  the  base  of  an  isosceles 
triangle  are  recognized  as  equal  to  each  other.  Euclid  es- 
tablishes this  point  by  supposing  two  similar  and  equal 
isosceles  triangles,  of  which  the  one  is  turned  over  and  placed 
upon  the  other,  so  that  the  apex  and  one  side  of  the  one  will 
coincide  with  the  apex  and  opposite  side  of  the  other. 
Then  the  other  sides  and  the  ba^es  must  respectively  coincide 


SH.  :lv.2  tee  composition  OF  MIND,  101 

otherwise  the  two  trimglea  would  uot  be  similar  aud  equal, 
and  the  conditions  of  the  case  would  be  violated.  All  the 
sides  being  thus  equal,  each  to  each,  the  two  triangles  must 
everywhere  coincide,  and  consequently  the  two  basal  angles 
must  be  equal,  both  in  the  triangle  which  has  been  turned 
over  and  in  the  one  which  has  kept  its  original  position. 
Now,  each  step  of  this  demonstration  is  a  cognition  of  ttio 
equality  of  a  pair  of  relations  of  length  or  of  direction ;  and 
in  each  case  this  cognition  is  established,  not  by  any  anterioi 
demonstration,  but  by  direct  inspection.  Or,  in  other  words, 
when  it  is  said  that  two  lines  of  equal  length,  starting  from 
the  same  point,  and  running  in  the  same  direction,  must 
coincide  at  their  farther  extremities,  the  truth  of  the  state- 
ment is  at  once  recognized  simply  because  the  states  of  con- 
sciousness which  we  call  the  ideas  of  the  tvjo  lines  are  totally 
indistinguishable  from  each  other.  This  immediate  perception 
of  the  equality — or,  in  some  cases,  of  the  inequality — between 
two  or  more  relations  of  position  or  magnitude  is  the  goal 
toward  which  every  geometrical  demonstration  tends.  And, 
still  more,  it  is  the  mental  act  implied  in  every  step  of  every 
such  demonstration.  All  the  devices  familiar  to  the  reader 
of  Euclid — the  bisecting  of  lines  and  angles,  the  drawing  of 
parallels  and  the  circumscribing  of  circles  for  argumentative 
purposes — are  simply  devices  for  bringing  a  given  pair  of 
space-relations  directly  into  consciousness,  so  that  their 
vquality  or  inequality  may  be  recognized  by  direct  inspection. 
Manifestly  the  case  is  the  same  in  that  algebraic  reasoning 
which  our  astronomer  will  often  find  it  desirable  to  employ 
in  the  course  of  his  computation  of  the  moon's  distance. 
The  axiom  that  "  relations  which  are  equal  to  the  same  rela- 
tion are  equal  to  each  other  "  is  an  axiom  which  twice  involves 
tiie  immediate  recognition  of  the  equality  of  two  given 
relations.  And,  if  any  proof  were  needed  that  the  whole 
science  of  algebra  is  based  upon  this  axiom,  it  may  be  found 
in  one  of  the  most  common  algebraic  artifices     "  When  a 


102  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

simplification  may  "be  thereby  achieved,  it  is  usual  to  throw 
any  two  forms  of  an  equation  into  a  proportion — a  procedure 
in  which  the  equality  of  the  relations  is  specifically  asserted." 
To  cite  Mr.  Spencer's  simple  illustration :  if  we  take  any 
equation,  2  xy=y^,  and,  dividing  it  by  y,  obtain  a  second 
equation,  2  x—y,  the  legitimacy  of  our  proceeding  is  at  once 
rendered  apparent  when  the  two  equations  are  thrown  together 
in  a  proportion,  in  which  it  is  asserted  that  the  ratio  of  2  xy 
to  y"^  is  equal  to  the  ratio  of  2  a;  to  y.  Or,  if  any  doubt  still 
remain  as  to  the  correctness  of  this,  we  resort  to  the  familiar 
device  of  multiplying  extremes  and  means,  and  obtain  the 
identical  proposition  2  xy'^  =  2  xy^,va.  which  the  identity  of  the 
two  terms  is  immediately  cognized,  because  the  states  of  con- 
sciousness which  they  evoke  are  indistinguishable  from  one 
another. 

Thus  the  complicated  quantitative  reasoning  by  which  an 
astronomer  determines  the  distance  of  a  heavenly  body  con- 
sists in  the  long-continued  compounding  of  immediate  cogni- 
tions of  the  equality  or  inequality  of  two  or  more  given 
relations  or  groups  of  relations  of  position  and  magnitude. 

Before  proceeding  to  unfold  all  that  is  implied  by  this 
conclusion,  let  us  consider  another  concrete  example  of  a 
somewhat  different  kind.  "When  a  certain  horned  animal,  of 
slender  figure,  with  cloven  hoofs,  and  a  hairy  integument,  is 
presented  to  the  inspection  of  a  naturalist,  he  at  once  re- 
cognizes it  as  a  giraffe ;  and,  if  required  further  to  describe 
it,  he  observes  that,  as  having  four  stomachs  and  chewing 
the  cud,  it  belongs  to  the  sub-order  of  ruminants;  as  having 
its  toes  firmly  united  in  a  solid  hoof,  it  belongs  to  the  order 
of  ungulata;  as  having  mammary  glands  and  suckling  its 
young,  it  belongs  to  the  class  of  mammals ;  and,  as  having 
an  internal  bony  skeleton,  it  belongs  to  the  sub-kingdom  of 
vertebrates.  What,  now,  is  the  mental  act  which  is  repeated 
at  each  stage  of  this  description  ?  It  is  "  a  cognition  of  the 
fact  that  the  relation  between  particular  attributes  in  thia 


tH.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  103 

animal  is  like  the  relation  between  homologous  attributes 
in  certain  other  animals."  To  confine  onrselves  to  the  first 
clause  of  the  description — "the  attributes  implied  by  the 
term  ruminant  can  be  known  only  as  previously  observed  or 
described  ;  and  the  predication  of  these,  as  possessed  by  the 
animal  under  remark,  is  the  predication  of  attributes  Hie 
certain  before-known  attributes.  Once  more,  there  is  no 
assignable  reason  why,  in  this  particular  case,  a  relation  of 
coexistence  should  be  thought,  between  *  such  attributes  as 
the  possession  of  four  stomachs  and  the  possession  of  horns 
and  cloven  hoofs,'  unless  as  being  like  certain  relations  of 
coexistence  previously  known  ;  and,  whether  the  thinking  of 
this  relation  can  be  otherwise  accounted  for  or  not,  it  is  clear 
that  the  predication  cannot  otherwise  have  any  probability, 
much  less  certainty."  ^  The  case  is  the  same  with  the  re- 
maining clauses  of  the  description.  In  each  instance  the 
mental  operation  performed  by  the  naturalist  is  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  likeness  between  certain  groups  of  relations 
observed  in  this  giraffe  and  certain  other  groups  of  relations 
previously  classified  as  pertaining  to  ruminants,  ungulata, 
mammals,  and  vertebrates.  Obviously,  therefore,  the  reason- 
ing by  which  the  places  of  animals  in  the  zoological  scale 
are  determined,  consists  in  the  compounding  of  cognitions 
of  likeness  or  unlilceness  between  certain  given  groups  of 
relations. 

So  far,  then,  the  mental  operation  performed  by  the  natu- 
ralist seems  to  be  not  unlike  that  performed  by  the  astro- 
nomer. And  indeed,  in  spite  of  the  superficial  difference 
which  seems  so  widely  to  separate  the  classification  of 
animals  from  the  measurement  of  celestial  spaces,  it  will 
appear,  on  a  moment's  reflection,  that  the  only  real  difference 
between  the  mental  processes  involved  in  the  former  case, 
and  those  involved  in  the  latter,  is  the  extent  to  which  like- 
ness is  predicated  of  the  relations  concerned.  Deeply  con 
*  fjpencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  voL  u.  p.  69, 


104  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  i». 

Bidered,  the  act  of  the  astronomer  is  the  same  as  that  of  the 
naturalist,  save  that,  while  the  former  classifies  together 
sundry  groups  of  relations  as  equal  to  one  another,  or  indistin- 
guishable from  one  another,  the  latter  clasaifies  togethei 
sundry  groups  of  relations  as  like  one  another,  )r  but  slightly 
distinguishable  from  one  another.  Now,  in  ihis  statement! 
we  see  that  what  is  meant  by  equality  is  merely  exact  like- 
ness ;  but  something  more  is  needed  for  the  accurate  descrip- 
tion of  the  difference  between  the  two  cases.  The  objects 
which  the  astronomer  contemplates  are  simple  triangles, 
presenting  simple  relations  of  position  and  magnitude ; 
while  the  objects  contemplated  by  the  naturalist  are  com- 
plex organisms,  presenting  immensely  compounded  relations 
of  structure  and  function.  Now,  in  speaking  of  simple 
things  or  simple  relations,  such  as  lengths  and  breadths, 
weights,  times,  and  velocities,  we  habitually  predicate 
equality  or  inequality  of  them.  "  Wherever  the  terms  of  the 
comparison,  being  both  elementary,  have  only  one  aspect  under 
which  they  can  be  regarded,  and  can  be  specifically  posited 
as  either  distinguishable  or  indistinguishable,  we  call  them 
either  unequal  or  equal.  But  when  we  pass  to  complex  things, 
exhibiting  at  once  the  attributes,  size,  form,  colour,  weight, 
texture,  hardness — things  which,  if  equal  in  some  particulars, 
are  rarely  equal  in  all,  and  therefore  rarely  indistinguishable 
—then  we  use  the  term  liTce  to  express,  partly  the  approximate 
equality  of  the  several  attributes  separately  considered,  and 
partly  the  grouping  of  them  in  a  parallel  manner  in  time  and 
space.  Similarly  with  the  relations  involved  in  reasoning. 
If  simple,  they  are  recognized  as  equal  or  unequal ;  if  com- 
plex, as  like  or  unlike!^ 

The  essential  difference,  then,  between  the  quantitative  rea- 
soning employed  in  the  most  advanced  sciences,  and  the 
qualitative  reasoning  employed  in  those  which  are  less  ad- 
vanced, may  be  thus  stated :  in  the  first  case  the  relations 
contemplated  are  so  simple  that  they  may  be  directly  juxta* 


CH.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  108 

posed  in  consciousness,  and  recognized  as  equal  or  unequal; 
but  in  tlie  second  case  the  relations  contemplated  consist  of 
so  many  simple  relations  heterogeneously  combined,  that  they 
can  only  through  a  very  indirect  process  be  juxtaposed  in 
consciousness,  and  hence  are  only  approximately  recognized 
as  like  or  unlike.  That  this  is  the  only  essential  difference 
between  quantitative  reasoning  and  qualitative  reasoning  is 
shown  by  the  fact  that  all  qualitative  reasoning  is  vaguely 
quantitative,  while  all  quantitative  reasoning  begins  by  be-.ng 
qualitative.  For  example — to  cite  Mr.  Spencer's  admirable 
illustration — when  a  brewer  describes  a  vat  of  fermeutinj; 
wort  as  containing  carbonic  acid,  he  makes  a  qualitativp. 
statement ;  yet  some  rude  notion  of  quantity  is  involved  in  it. 
"  He  thinks  of  the  carbonic  acid  as  more,  certainly,  than  a 
cubic  foot ;  less,  certainly,  than  the  total  capacity  of  the  vat : 
the  quantity  is  thought  of  as  in  some  ratio  to  the  quantity  of 
wort."  On  the  other  hand,  "  a  man  who  has  walked  a  mile 
in  fifteen  minutes,  and,  observing  that  he  has  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  still  to  go,  infers  the  time  it  will  take  to  reach  his  desti- 
nation, does  not  primarily  infer  three  minutes  and  three 
quarters :  he  primarily  infers  a  short  time — a  time  indefinitely 
conceived  as  certainly  less  than  ten  minutes,  and  certainly 
more  than  one."  Doubtless  he  may  in  an  instant  proceed  to 
calculate  the  exact  length  of  the  time ;  yet,  as  it  will  not  be 
denied  that  even  before  calculating  he  has  a  vague  notion 
of  the  interval,  it  must  be  admitted  that  his  inference,  thou  oh 
ultimately  quantitative,  is,  at  the  outset,  only  qiialitative. 
Between  the  two  kinds  of  reasoning,  therefore,  the  only  differ- 
ence is  the  degree  of  definiteness  to  which  they  are  re- 
spectively developed. 

Bearing  in  mind  these  mutually  harmonious  conclusions — 
which  alike  imply  the  assertion  that,  between  the  highest  and 
the  lowest  kinds  of  reasoning  employed  by  civilized  man,  the 
difference  consists  solely  in  the  complexity  of  the  relations 
contemplated,  and  in  the  greater  or  less  definiteness  with 


106  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.  ii. 

whicli  tlie?e  rtlations  are  cognized  as  equal  or  unequal,  like 
or  unlike — let  us  now  advance  a  step  farther.  Already,  in 
the  course  of  the  foregoing  analysis,  the  essential  similarity 
between  reasoning  and  classification  has  been  vividly  brought 
before  us.  We  have  now  to  scrutinize  this  similarity  some- 
what more  closely. 

To  cite  an  example  with  which  we  are  already  familiar : 
when  our  astronomer,  some  thirty  years  ago,  observed 
that  certain  irregularities  in  the  motions  of  Uranus  still 
remained  unaccounted  for,  after  calculating  the  combined 
effects  of  all  the  interior  planets  in  producing  such  irregu- 
larities, it  occurred  to  him  that  the  unexplained  irregularities 
could  only  be  due  to  the  gravitative  force  of  some  undisco- 
vered planet  outside  of  Uranus ;  and  the  discovery  of  Nep- 
tune was  the  result  of  this  most  brilliant  hypothesis.  Now, 
the  mental  act  involved  in  this  deduction  was  essentially  a 
classification  of  cases.  The  case  of  the  unexplained  pertur- 
bations was  mentally  ranked  along  with  the  several  cases  of 
explained  perturbations  presented  by  the  solar  system,  as 
being  similarly  due  to  gravitative  force  ;  and  to  the  number 
of  known  cases  in  which  planets  deflect  each  other  from  the 
regular  paths  in  which  they  would  otherwise  move,  a  new 
hypothetical  case  was  added.  Comparing,  now,  this  mental 
operation  with  that  of  the  naturalist  who,  by  virtue  of  certain 
observed  likenesses  of  structure  and  function,  ranks  together 
lions,  and  elephants,  and  seals,  in  the  class  of  mammals,  we 
may  conclude  roughly  that  the  one  process  consists  in  the 
formation  of  a  group  of  like  cases,  while  the  other  consists  in 
the  formation  of  a  group  of  like  tilings.  And  since  by  the 
expression  " like  cases"  we  mean  merely  "like  sets  of  rela- 
tions among  two  or  more  given  groups  of  things,"  it  follows 
that  we  may  characterize  Eeasoning  as  the  classification  of 
relations,  while  Classification,  ordinarily  so  called,  is  the  classi- 
Hcation  of  things.  When,  for  example,  on  perceiving  two 
similar  triangles  se''  side  by  side,  we  proceed  to  make  some 


CH.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND,  107 

inferenue  from  the  known  value  of  a  side  in  the  one  to  the 
desired  value  of  the  corresponding  side  in  the  other,  the  act 
is  an  act  of  reasoning.  But  when,  on  taking  up  two  similar 
sea-shells,  we  recognize  them  in  their  totality  as  belonging 
to  an  oyster  or  some  other  familiar  mollusk,  the  act  is  an 
act  of  classification,  commonly  so  called.  In  other  words, 
if  the  perception  of  similarity  is  followed  by  the  thought 
of  one  or  more  of  the  like  relations  which  make  up  simi- 
larity, we  have  an  act  of  reasoning ;  but  if  it  is  followed 
by  the  thought  of  other  objects  presenting  like  relations 
of  similarity  to  the  one  now  perceived,  we  liave  an  act  of 
classification. 

But,  closely  related  as  these  two  mental  operations  are 
now  seen  to  be,  we  have  not  yet  disclosed  the  full  extent  to 
which  they  are  related.  Not  only  is  classification  involved 
in  every  act  of  reasoning  or  inference,  but  reasoning  or 
inference  is  involved  in  every  act  of  classification.  Not  only 
does  reasoning  consist  in  the  grouping  of  relations  as  like  or 
unlike,  but  the  classification  of  things  can  go  on  only  through 
the  grouping  of  relations  as  like  or  unlike.  To  illustrate 
this,  let  us  take  a  further  downward  step,  and  consider  a 
mental  operation  apparently  much  simpler  than  those  hitherto 
treated.  Let  us  consider  what  is  implied  by  the  perception 
of  an  object. 

It  is  admitted  on  all  sides  that  the  perception  of  an  object 
necessarily  implies  the  recognition  of  the  object  as  this  or 
'hat,  as  like  certain  objects,  and  as  unlike  certain  other 
objects.  Every  act  of  perception,  therefore,  involves  classi- 
fication. We  cannot  even  name  a  chair  without  implying 
the  existence  of  a  group  of  objects  which  the  chair  resembles; 
and  the  essential  element  in  the  perception  of  a  chair  is  not 
the  reception  of  a  group  of  visual  or  tactual  impressions,  but 
the  interpretation  of  these  impressions  as  like  other  ante- 
cedent impressions  which,  taken  together,  constitute  the 
consciousness  of  the  presence  of  a  chair.     And  this  is   as 


108  COSMIG  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  it. 

tniich  an  act  of  classification,  as  the  act  by  virtue  cf  which 
the  naturalist  would  rank  a  newly-found  horned  and  cloven- 
hoofed  mammal  among  the  ruminants ;  the  only  difference 
being  that  in  ordinary  perception  the  act  has  been  per- 
formed so  frequently  as  to  have  become  automatic  at  an 
early  period  of  life,  while  in  scientific  classification  the  act 
involves  more  or  less  conscious  thinking,  and  comparison  of 
relations. 

Here,  in  this  last  clause,  there  is  hinted  what  we  are  seek- 
ing for.  Not  only  in  scientific  classification,  but  in  ordinary 
perception  also,  tliere  must  go  on  a  comparison  of  relations, 
and  a  grouping  of  them  as  like  or  unlike.  In  perceiving  an 
apple,  for  example,  "  the  bulk  is  perceived  to  be  like  the  bulk 
of  apples  in  general ;  the  form  like  their  forms ;  the  colour 
like  their  colours ;  the  surface  like  their  surfaces  ;  and  so 
on."  For  if  the  bulk  were  like  that  of  a  water-melon,  or  if 
the  shape  were  cubical,  or  if  the  colour  were  inky  black,  or  if 
the  surface  were  covered  with  thorns,  the  object  would  not 
be  perceived  to  be  an  apple.  The  act  of  perception,  there- 
fore, consists  in  the  recognition  of  sundry  attributes  as  like 
sundry  attributes  previously  known,  and  as  having  relations 
to  one  another  like  the  relations  between  the  before-known 
attributes.  This  will  appear  still  more  clearly,  when  we 
recollect  what  takes  place  in  visual  perception.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  eye,  unassisted  by  the  muscular  and  tactual 
senses,  can  take  no  cognizance  of  distance,  shape,  or  solidity 
— the  only  impressions  which  the  retina  receives  are  im- 
pressions of  colour,  and  indirectly  of  superficial  extension. 
It  is  because  of  this  that  infants  reach  out  for  the  moon, 
and  that  blind  men,  on  first  receiving  sight,  are  unable 
to  distinguish  between  a  round  orange  and  a  cubical  block, 
without  feeling  the  surfaces  of  the  two.  Only  after  re- 
peated and  careful  comparison  of  visual  impressions  with 
muscular  aud  tactual  impressions  is  the  patient  enabled 
to  discover,  by  the  eye  alone,  that  all  the  objects  in  the 


CH.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  109 

room  or  in  the  landscape  are  not  in  contact  with  his  body ; 
and  it  is  only  after  a  similar  elaborate  comparison  that 
the  young  cliild  achieves  the  feat  of  looking  at  an  object  in 
a  given  direction,  or  of  recognizing  by  vision  its  father  or 
mother.  Accordingly,  when  looking  about  the  room,  all  that 
you  really  see  is  a  congeries  of  coloured  spots.  Your  know- 
ledge of  the  presence  of  divers  objects — chairs,  windows,  mir- 
ror, mantel-piece — is  not  given  in  the  act  of  vision,  but  is  the 
result  of  an  exceedingly  complex,  though  apparently  instan- 
taneous, process  of  reasoning.  Your  seemingly  immediate 
knowledge  that  a  certain  group  of  coloured  spots  means  a  chair 
is  due  to  the  fact,  that  from  early  infancy  this  group  of  coloured 
spots,  or  some  other  like  group,  has  been  associated  with  sun- 
dry impressions  of  touch  and  resistance,  and  with  sensations 
yielded  by  the  little  muscles  which  turn  the  eye  hither  and 
thither.  The  frequency  with  which  the  association  has  been 
repeated  has  rendered  the  process  of  inference  automatic,  just 
as,  to  a  less-marked  extent,  the  process  of  reading,  at  first 
accompanied  by  a  conscious  classification  of  every  letter,  has 
become  automatic,  so  that  we  are  not  aware  of  cognizing 
the  letters  at  all.  Nevertheless,  although  too  rapid  to  rise 
into  consciousness,  the  process  is  still  one  of  inference,  imply- 
ing, like  any  other  process  of  inference,  the  grouping  of  cer- 
tain relations  as  like  or  unlike  certain  other  relations.  Cer- 
tain correlated  grouj)S  of  colours  are  automatically  classified 
vith  other  correlated  groups  of  colours  previously  received 
ipon  the  retina,  and  also  with  certain  correlated  groups  of 
muscular  and  tactual  impressions,  previously  received  simul- 
taneously with  the  groups  of  colours  in  question.  Thus  our 
visual  perception  of  objects  consists  cf  a  group  of  sensations 
phts  a  complicated  series  of  inferences  which  does  not  differ 
mndamentally  from  a  course  of  scientific  drimonstration.  And 
the  same  truth  may  be,  with  equal  justice,  though  less  vividly, 
illustrated  in  the  case  of  any  other  sense  than  sight.  A  much 
simpler  case  than  that  of  visual  perception  is  that  of  a  spoon, 


110  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHY.  [vi.  n. 

containing  some  unknown  liquid,  thrust  into  the  n.outh  by 
another  person  in  the  dark.  Here  the  only  clue  to  the  cha- 
racter of  the  liquid  is  its  taste  ;  and  when,  by  its  peculiar  mild 
pungency,  the  liquid  is  recognized  as  bromide  of  potassium, 
the  psychical  process  consists  of  a  gustatory  sensation 23lus  an 
act  of  classification  by  which  the  sensation  is  grouped  with 
other  like  sensations  previously  received.  The  example  is  a 
good  one,  as  showing  us  also  the  obverse  case.  If  bromide  of 
potassium  has  not  been  previously  tasted,  the  result  is  simply 
gustatory  sensation  unattended  by  perception ;  or  rather,  it  is 
gustatory  sensation  generically  classified  as  mildly  pungent, 
but  not  specifically  referred  to  any  known  liquid,  and  there- 
fore only  partially  interpreted.  There  is  perception,  but  it  is 
incomplete. 

It  is  not  pretended  that  these  psychological  truths  are 
established  by  the  crude  and  fragmentary  exposition  here 
given.  The  numerous  observations  and  experiments  upon 
which  they  are  based  would  be  very  interesting  to  recount ; 
but  our  space  does  not  admit  of  detailed  proof,  nor  is  it 
needed ;  since  these  truths  are  the  common  property  of  psy- 
chologists, and  will  be  questioned  by  no  competent  student  of 
the  phenomena  of  mind.  Eeferring,  for  minute  and  elabo- 
rate proof,  to  Mr.  Spencer's  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  let 
us  be  content  with  setting  down  the  implication  which  is 
common  to  all  these  conclusions ;  nauiely,  that  between  the 
various  psychical  processes  thus  far  contemplated,  which  in- 
clude alike  the  measurement  of  celestial  distances  by  the 
astronomer,  and  the  direct  perception  of  objects  by  the  un- 
learned child,  or  indeed  by  the  ape  or  dog,  there  is  generic 
identity.  The  fundamental  characteristic  which  is  common 
to  them  all  is  the  reception  of  certain  groups  of  sensations, 
accompanied  by  the  classification  of  these  groups  of  sensa- 
tions, and  of  the  relations  between  them,  according  to  their 
various  likenesses  and  unlikenesses.  The  difference  between 
the  highest  and  the  lowest  of    the   processes  thus  brought 


CH.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  Ill 

fcogetlier  consists  solely  in  the  heterogeneity  and  defiuiteness 
of  the  groups  which  are  classified,  and  in  the  extent  to  which 
the  classifications  are  compounded. 

To  sucli  a  statement,  however,  there  is  one  essential  qualifi- 
cation to  be  added.     It  is  not  strictly  correct  to  say  that  the 
classification  involved  alike  in  the  most  complex  act  of  rea- 
Boning  and  in  the  simplest  act  of  perception  is  a  classification 
of  groups  of  sensations  and  of  the  relations  between  them. 
For,  when  an  object  is  perceived,  along  with  the  sensations 
actually  present,  there  are  remembered  or  internally-revived 
sensations  which  enter  into  the  classification,  and  these  inter- 
nally-revived sensations  are  what  we  call  ideas  or  images. 
For  example,  "  when  passing  the  finger  over  a  rough  surface, 
the  percejition  contains  very  much  more  than  the  coordinated 
sensations  immediately  experienced.     Along  with  these  there 
go  the  remembered  visual  impressions  produced  by  such  a 
surface,  which  cannot  be  kept  out  of  the  mind,  and  in  the 
suggestion  of  which  the  perception  largely  consists  ;  and  there 
are  automatic  inferences  respecting  the  texture  and  density 
of  the  substance."     So  when  we  see  an  orange  lying  on  the 
table,  the  only  sensation  actually  present  and  euteriflg  into 
the  case  is  the  sensation  of  a  patch  of  reddish-yellow  colour 
surrounded  by  other  unlike  patches  of  colour.     The  other 
elements  in  the  classification  of  which  the  perception  consists 
are  ideas  or  internally-revived  sensations  of  position,  shape, 
bulk,  texture,  juiciness,  and  so  on.     And  now  we  discover 
another  point  of  difference  in  degree  between  perception  and 
;ieasoning.     While  in  perception  some  of  the  elements  classi- 
fied must  be  sensations  actually  present,  in  reasoning  all  the 
elements  classified  may  be  ideas  or  internally-revived  sensa- 
tions.    The  sides  and  angles  of  the  isosceles  triangles  which 
the  astronomer  compares  in  estimating  the  moon's  distance 
are  ideal  sides  and  angles  ;    and  the  naturalist,  in  writing 
about  the  classification  of  ruminants,  deals  solely  with  in- 
ternally-revived impressiou3  of  horns,  hoofs,  and  multiple 


112  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii 

stomachs,  whicli  were  previously  present  to  sense.  Thus  tha 
classification  involved  in  reasoning  differs  from  that  involved 
in  perception,  not  only  in  heterogeneity  and  definiteness, 
but  also  in  indirectness.  Nevertheless  the  difference  is  not 
fundamental,  but  is  only  a  difference  in  degree  ;  as  is  proved 
by  the  fact  that  alike  in  reasoning  and  in  perception  there  is 
implied  the  previous  reception  of  the  actually  present  sensa- 
tions of  which  the  ideas  or  revived  sensations  are  the  copies. 
Our  statement,  therefore,  will  become  strictly  correct  if  we 
say  that  the  fundamental  characteristic  common  to  the  most 
refined  reasoning,  and  the  crudest  perception,  is  the  presence 
of  certain  states  of  consciousness,  accompanied  by  the  classifi- 
cation of  these  states  and  of  the  relations  between  them 
according  to  their  various  likenesses  and  unlikenesses  ;  the 
differences  between  the  processes  being  differences  in  hetero- 
geneity, definiteness,  indirectness,  and  extent  of  integration 
or  compounding. 

Let  us  next  observe  that,  as  between  the  highest  and 
lowest  kinds  of  reasoning  there  is  a  great  difference  in  the 
extent  to  which  the  comparison  of  relations  is  carried,  so 
between  the  highest  and  lowest  kinds  of  perception  there  is 
a  similar  difference. 

There  is  a  striking  contrast  in  degree  of  directness  "  be- 
tween the  perception  that  some  surface  touched  by  the  finger 
is  hard,  and  the  perception  that  a  building  at  which  we  are 
looking  is  a  cathedral.  The  one  piece  of  knowledge  is  almost 
immediate.  The  other  is  mediate  in  a  double,  a  triple,  a 
quadruple,  and  even  in  a  still  higher  degree.  It  is  mediate 
inasmuch  as  the  solidity  of  that  which  causes  the  visual  im- 
pression is  inferential ;  mediate  inasmuch  as  its  position,  its 
size,  its  shape,  are  inferential;  mediate  inasmuch  as  its 
material,  its  hollowness,  are  inferential;  mediate  inasmuch 
as  its  ecclesiastical  purpose  is  an  inference  from  these  infer- 
ences ;  and  mediate  inasmuch  as  the  identification  of  it  as  a 
particular  cathedral  is  a  still  more  remote  inference  resulting 


CH.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  113 

from  the  union  of  these  inferences  with  those  many  others 
through  which  the  locality  is  recognized."  ^  From  this 
example  it  appears  that  while,  at  the  highest  extreme, 
perception  emerges  into  reasoning,  on  the  other  hand  at  its 
lowest  extreme,  as  where  a  body  is  perceived  to  be  rough  or 
hard,  it  borders  very  closely  upon  simple  sensation.  Pro* 
ceeding,  then,  a  step  farther  in  our  descending  analysis,  we 
have  to  examine  the  character  of  the  difference  between  per- 
ception and  sensation. 

Sensation,  no  less  than  perception,  has  a  variety  of  grades. 
At  the  one  extreme  it  rises  to  a  point  where  it  is  barely  dis- 
tinguishable from  perception ;  at  the  other  extreme  it  lapses 
into  an  unconscious  or  sub-conscious  psychical  state.     While 
writing  these  lines  the  sum-total  of  my  consciousness  may 
contain  elements  contributed  by  dull  sounds  of  persons  walk- 
ing overhead,  by  the  rumbling  of  wagons  in  the  street,  by 
faint  odours  wafted  from  the  kitchen,  by  soothing  pulses  of 
sensation  from  the  pipe  held  in  my  mouth,  and  by  the  occa- 
sional striking  of  the  cuckoo-clock,  as  well  as  by  the  pressure 
exerted  by  the  chair  in  which  I  am  sitting,  and   the  table 
upon  which  my  arm  is  resting,  and  the  pen  which  is  grasped 
in  my  fingers.      But,  while  I  am  absorbed  in  thought,  none 
of  these  elements  rise  into  the  foreground  of  consciousness  : 
though  they  are  present  as  psychical  states,  as  is  shown  by 
the  fact  that  the  going  out  of  the  pipe  or  the  failure  of  the 
clock  to  strike  is  noticed,  yet  I  become  conscious  of  them,  in 
he  ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  "  only  when  they  pass  a 
v.ertain  degree  of  intensity,"  as  when  a  child  overhead  falls 
on  the  floor,  or  when  the  shriek  and  rumble  of  a  passing  rail- 
way-train are  added  to  the  confused  mass  of  out-door  noises ; 
"  and  only  then  can  I  be  said  to  experience "  these  feelings 
"  as  sensations."     But  when  a  psychical  state  rises  into  the 
foreground  of  consciousness  ani  becomes  known  as  a  sensa- 
iion,  as  when  my  finger  happens  to  touch  the  heated  pipe* 
*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  voL  iL  p.  245. 
VOL.  IL  I 


114  COSMIG  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  it 

bowl,  then  "  Tnot  only  contemplate  the  affection  as  an  affec- 
tion of  myself — as  a  state  through  which  my  consciousness 
is  passing  or  has  passed — but  I  also  contemplate  it  as  exist- 
ing in  a  certain  part  of  my  body — as  standing  in  certain 
relations  of  position.  I  perceive  where  it  is."  The  close 
relationship  between  sensation  and  perception  is  illustrated 
by  this  example  :  nevertheless  psychology  here  distinguishes 
between  two  portions  of  the  mental  act.  Though  in  the 
practical  experience  there  is  no  separation  between  the 
two,  yet  analysis  enables  us  to  distinguish  between  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  painful  feeling  and  the  consciousness  of 
the  presence  of  the  heated  object  which  causes  the  feeling ; 
and  the  former  of  these  we  call  sensation,  while  the  latter 
we  call  perception. 

We  shall  now  be  greatly  assisted  by  observing  a  psycholo- 
gical fact  of  which  Sir  William  Hamilton  caught  a  glimpse, 
though,  as  usual,  his  analysis  was  not  sufficiently  thorough, 
and  his  statement  of  the  case  was  inaccurate.  We  need  not 
pause  to  criticize  the  theorem  that  while  "perception  proper 
and  sensation  proper  exist  only  as  they  coexist,  in  the  de- 
gree or  intensity  of  their  existence  they  are  always  found  in 
an  inverse  ratio  to  each  other ; "  for  its  inaccuracy  has  been 
fully  demonstrated  by  Mr.  Mill  and  also  by  Mr.  Spencer, 
who  shows  the  true  statement  to  be,  "  not  that  sensation  and 
perception  vary  inversely,  but  that  they  exclude  each  other 
with  degrees  of  stringency  which  vary  inversely."  To  illus- 
trate this,  we  will  suppose  that  you  are  getting  water  from 
a  hot-water  faucet,  and  that,  as  the  water  begins  by  running 
cold,  you  clasp  your  hand  about  the  faucet  so  as  to  turn  it 
off  when  the  water  has  become  sufficiently  warm.  While 
the  water  is  cool  or  tepid,  sensation  is  at  the  minimum,  and 
not  only  is  there  no  exclusion  of  perception,  but  conscious- 
ness is  occupied  with  the  outer  phenomena,  the  faucet  and 
the  running  water,  more  than  with  the  inner  phenomenon. 
;he  feeling  of  temperature.     The  pointed  end  of  the  upright 


CH.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  116 

part  of  the  faucet,  and  the  protuberance  where  the  horizontal 
piece  is  fitted  upon  it,  awaken  tactual  sensations  which  co- 
exist with  the  sensation  of  temperature,  and  the  automatic 
comparison  of  these  sensations  which  constitutes  the  per- 
ception of  the  faucet  goes  on  unhindered.     To  concentrate 
consciousness   upon   the   feeling  of  temperature  requires  a 
voluntary  act  of  attention,  induced  by  the  desire  to  know 
how  warm  the  water  is  getting.     As  the  water  becomes  very 
much  warmer,  so  as  to  be  slightly  uncomfortable,  the  per- 
ception of  the  faucet  does  not  become  gradually  less  vivid, 
but  it  tends  to  disappear  entirely,  and  consciousness  tends 
to  occupy  itself  exclusively  with  the  feeling  of  temperature. 
Only  through  a  distinct  voluntary  effort  can  the  perception 
be  made  to  come  into  the  foreground  of  consciousness.     If, 
now,  there  comes  a  sudden  spurt  of  very  hot  water,  the 
tactual  perception  of  the  faucet  is  for  the  moment  entirely 
excluded,  and  the  perceptive  act  implied  in  the  estimation 
of  the  degree  of  temperature  is  also  expelled  from  conscious- 
ness, which  is  occupied  entirely  with  the  sensation  of  pain, 
inducing  a  violent  withdrawal  of  the  hand.     Here  sensation, 
reaching   a   maximum,  has  quite   driven  out  the  group  of 
tactual  perceptions,  and  even  visual  perceptions  are  to  that 
extent  held  in  abeyance,  that  for  the  moment  they  cease  to 
occupy  the  attention.     If,  now,  a  piece  of  soap  is  taken  from 
its  dish,  the  newly-aroused  group  of  sensations — of  weight, 
hardness,  smoothness,  and  the  rest — exist  in  minimum  in- 
tensity, and  consciousness  is  occujoied,  not  with  them,  but 
with  the  presence  of  the  piece  of  soap :  perception  tends  to 
exclude  sensation. 

"What,  now,"  inquires  Mr.  Spencer,  "is  the  real  nature  of 
this  mutual  exclusion  ?  Is  it  not  an  instance  of  the  general 
kact  that  consciousness  cannot  be  in  two  equally  distinct 
btates  at  the  same  time ;  and  that  in  proportion  as  the  pre- 
dominance of  one  state  becomes  more  marked,  the  suppres- 
Bion  of  other  states  becomes  more  decided  ?     I  cannot  know 

I  2 


116  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  u 

that  I  have  a  sensation  without,  for  the  moment,  having  my 
attention  specially  occupied  with  that  sensation.     I  cannot 
know  the  external  thing  causing  it,  without,  for  the  moment, 
having  my  attention  specially  occupied  with  that  external 
thing.     As  either  cognition  rises,  the  other  ceases."     By  the 
"  external  thing,"  Mr.  Spencer  does  not  here  mean  the  Ding 
an  sich,  but  the  group  of  phenomena  which  are  referred  to 
an  existence  outside  of  tlie  organism.     But  we  have  already 
seen  that,  when  consciousness  is  so  occupied  with  such  a  group 
of  phenomena  that  the  result  is  the  perception  of  an  object,  the 
psychical  act  involved  is  an  automatic  classification  of  sundry 
states  of  consciousness  and  of  the  relations  between  them, 
according  to  their  various  likenesses  and  unlikenesses.     Thus 
we  arrive  at  the  distinction  between  sensation  and  percep- 
tion.    Impossible  as  it  is  to  disentangle  the  two  in  practical 
experience,  analysis  yet  distinguishes  the  former  as  an  ap- 
parently elementary  state  of  consciousness,  while  the  latter 
u  "  a  discerning  of  the  relations  between  states  of  conscious- 
ness."    According,  therefore,  as  attention  is  directed  chiefly 
to  a  conscious  feeling  or  to  the  relations  between  a  number 
of  feelings,  is  now  sensation  and  then  perception  predominant. 
It  remains  to  be  observed  that  sensations,  or — as  we  may 
otherwise  call  them — feelings,  are  either  peripherally  or  cen- 
trally initiated.     In  other  words,  a  feeling  may  either  origi- 
nate at  the  surface  of  the  organism — as  is  the  case  with 
sensations  of  sight,  hearing,  smell,  taste,  and  touch,  and  in 
the  main  with  muscular  and  thermal  sensations ;  or  it  may 
originate  in  the  interior  of  the  organism — as  is  the  case  with 
the  sensations  of  hunger  and  repletion,  and  with  certain  mus- 
cular sensations,  such  as  cramp ;  or,  again,  it  may  start  from 
Bome  group  of  nerve-centres,  as  is  the  case  with  those  vague 
feelings  which  accompany  more  or  less  complex  acts  of  per- 
ception and  reasoning,  and  which,  when  they  acquire  a  certain 
degree  of  prominence,  we  call  emotions.     By  the  inclusion  oi 
these  states  of  consciousness,  the  term  *' feeling"  covers  » 


iH.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  illND.  117 

Bomewliat  wider  range  of  meaning  than  the  term  "sensation." 
Nevertheless  the  current  use  of  the  word  "  feeling"  to  desig- 
nate indifferently  a  sensation  or  an  emotion  bears  unconscious 
witness  to  the  fact  that  the  two  kinds  of  psychical  state  differ 
only  in  their  modes  of  genesis  and  of  composition.  The  con- 
trast between  a  peripheral  sensation,  as  of. colour  or  touch, 
and  an  emotion,  is  chiefly  a  contrast  in  degree  of  definitenesa 
and  of  localization.  But  this  contrast  holds  also  between 
peripheral  sensations  and  such  vague  internal  sensations  as 
hunger,  which,  being  known  as  cravings,  are  assimilated  to 
the  lowest  orders  of  emotion.  From  this  difference  in  defi- 
niteness  arises  the  fact  that  the  peripheral  sensations  admit 
of  being  definitely  grouped  according  to  their  relations  of 
likeness  and  unlikeness,  and  thus  afford  the  material  for  per- 
ception and  reasoning,  while  emotional  states  admit  no  such 
definite  grouping,  but  arrange  themselves  variously  in  clusters, 
the  particular  character  of  the  cluster  being  determined  by 
certain  contemporaneous  perceptions  or  ideal  reproductions  of 
past  perceptions.  For  these  reasons  the  ultimate  psycho- 
logical nature  of  emotion  can  be  reached  only  through  a  syn- 
thetical interpretation  which  starts  by  recognizing  the  fact 
that,  along  with  that  classifying  of  conscious  states  which 
occurs  in  perception  and  reasoning,  there  goes  on  a  recogni- 
tion of  certain  states  as  pleasurable  or  desirable  to  retain  in 
•jonsciousness,  and  a  recognition  of  certain  other  states  as 
painful  or  desirable  to  expel  from  consciousness.  Thus  in 
practical  experience  emotions  are,  in  however  slight  a  degree, 
inseparably  associated  with  perceptions  and  inferences,  as  the 
vague,  internally-initiated  feelings  accompanying  the  definite 
peripheral  feelings  in  the  classifying  of  which  the  perceptions 
and  inferences  consist. 

Looking  back,  now,  over  the  region  already  traversed,  we 
find  that  we  have  passed  in  review  a  large  number  of  mental 
operations  wliich  differ  immensely  in  complexity,  some  of 
ihem  being  performed  only  by  the  most  highly-educated  adult 


118  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [PT.  ii. 

civilized  men,  while  others  are  performed  habitually  by 
children,  barbarians,  and  numerous  animals  interior  to  man. 
Yet,  amid  all  this  diversity,  our  analysis  has  detected  a  funda- 
mental unity.  In  spite  of  their  vast  differences  in  complexity, 
we  have  seen  that  all  these  mental  operations  are  ultimately 
made  up  of  the  same  psychical  process.  The  grouping  of  the 
relations  among  feelings  is  the  elementary  act  which  is  re- 
peated alike  in  each  simple  and  direct  act  of  perception,  and 
in  each  complicated  and  indirect  act  of  ratiocination.  At  the 
present  stage  of  our  analysis,  therefore,  the  ultimate  elements 
of  mind  would  seem  to  be  feelings  and  the  relatiuns  between 
feelings.  It  remains  to  add  that  relations  themselves  must  be 
secondary  feelings  due  to  the  bringing  together  of  primary 
feelings.  We  can  know  a  relation  only  as  some  modification 
of  consciousness  resulting  from  some  combination  of  the 
feelings  directly  aroused  in  us  by  inner  or  outer  agencies ; 
and  such  modification  of  consciousness  must  be  itself  a  kind 
of  feeling.  For  further  illustration  let  us  briefly  mention  the 
different  relations  in  the  order  of  their  decreasing  complexity, 
that  we  may  note  the  fundamental  relation  involved  in  them 
all.  The  most  complex  relations  are  those  of  similarity  and 
dissimilarity,  as  exemplified  wlien  we  recognize  the  kinship 
between  a  thorough-bred  race-horse  and  a  Shetland  pony,  or 
the  complicated  divergences  between  a  city  and  a  village. 
Simpler  relations  are  those  of  cointension  and  non-cointeiision, 
as  when  we  perceive  that  two  sounds  are  equal  in  degree  of 
loudness,  or  that  in  grasping  wood  and  in  grasping  marble 
the  feelings  of  temperature  are  different  in  degree ;  of  coexten- 
sion  and  non-coextension,  as  when  two  lines  or  two  areas  are 
seen  to  be  equal  or  unequal ;  of  coexistence  and  non-coexistence, 
as  when  the  yellow-reddish  light  reflected  by  an  orange  is  re- 
garded as  accompanied  by  sweetness  and  juiciness,  but  not 
by  viscidity ;  of  connature  and  non-connature,  as  when  greatei 
warmth  is  mentally  assimilated  to  less  warmth,  but  distin- 
guished from  blueness  or  roughness.      Now,  underlying  all 


CH.  XV.]  TEE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  119 

these  relations,  and  all  mental  processes  wliatever,  is  the 
relation  of  likeness  and  unliJccness  between  primary  states  of 
consciousness.  Given  the  power  of  recognizing  two  feelings 
or  conscious  states  as  like  each  other,  and  two  other  feelings 
or  conscious  states  as  unlike  each  other,  and  we  have  the 
primordial  process  in  the  manifold  compounding  of  which  all 
operations  of  intelligence  consist.  Let  us  now  take  into  the 
account  the  universally-admitted  fact  that  consciousness  is 
rendered  possible  only  by  ceaseless  change  of  state — that  a 
uniform  state  of  consciousness  is  in  no  respect  different  from 
complete  unconsciousness.  If  our  minds  were  to  become 
spellbound,  like  the  palace  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  all  our 
thoughts  and  feelings  remaining  fixed  in  statu  quo,  our  con- 
scious existence  would  be  practically  at  an  end.  For  con- 
sciousness to  exist  at  all,  it  is  necessary  that  a  given  state 
should  be  followed  by  a  different  state.  But  this  is  not  all 
that  is  required.  A  succession  of  feelings,  of  which  no  two 
were  alike,  would  not  give  rise  to  consciousness,  since  the  re- 
cognition of  any  feeling  implies  its  classification  with  some 
antecedent  like  feeling.  Consciousness,  therefore,  "  is  not 
simply  a  succession  of  changes,  but  an  m^derly  succession  of 
changes — a  succession  of  changes  combined  and  arranged  in 
special  ways."  Thus  we  reach  the  law  of  the  Composition 
of  Mind.  Since  intelligence  cannot  arise  or  continue  unless 
consciousness  is  continually  passing  from  one  state  into  a 
different  state,  it  follows  that  there  must  be  a  continuous 
differentiation  of  states  ;  and  again,  since  intelligence  cannot 
arise  or  continue  unless  particular  states  of  consciousness  are 
continually  known  as  like  certain  previous  states,  it  follows 
that  there  must  be  a  continuous  integration  of  states.  Alike 
in  the  most  rudimentary  perception  and  in  the  most  deve- 
loped reasoning,  the  essential  process  is  the  separation  of  the 
nnlike  and  the  bringing  together  of  the  like.  So  that, 
"  under  its  most  general  aspect,  all  mental  action  whatever  is 
definabJe  as  the  contimiozis  differentiation  and  integration  of 


120  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.il 

states  of  consciousness**  and  the  kind  of  mental  action  is 
regarded  as  high  or  low,  according  to  the  greater  or  less 
extent  to  which  the  differentiation  and  integration  are  carried. 
The  phenomena  of  conscious  intelligence  are  thus  seen  to 
conform  to  the  universal  law  of  evolution ;  and  we  may 
furtlier  note  that  this  conclusion  is  entirely  in  harmony  with 
the  definition  of  psychical  life  as  the  continuous  adjustment 
of  inner  to  outer  relations.  For  clearly,  when  an  intelligence 
is  developing  in  the  midst  of  a  complex  environment,  the 
greater  the  number  of  subjective  relations  wliich  are  adjusted 
to  objective  relations,  the  greater  will  be  the  extent  to  which 
the  differentiation  and  integration  of  conscious  states  will  be 
carried. 

Here  we  may  seem  to  have  arrived  at  a  satisfactory  con- 
clusion of  our  analysis.  But  the  lowest  depths  of  the  pro- 
blem yet  remain  to  be  sounded,  as  will  be  seen  when  we 
consider  a  superficial  objection  not  unfrequently  urged  against 
the  foregoing  views.  Alike  in  all  the  mental  operations 
whicli  have  formed  the  subject-matter  of  our  analysis,  we 
have  seen  that  the  relations  of  likeness  and  unlikeness  enter- 
ing into  the  case  are  classified  with  certain  other  relations  of 
likeness  and  unlikeness  previously  cognized.  The  thought 
which  determines  the  astronomer  in  calculating  the  moon's 
distance,  implies  previous  experience  of  triangles  and  of 
numerical  relations.  In  the  classification  of  a  giraffe  there 
is  implied  previous  acquaintance  with  the  complex  relations 
of  structure  and  function  connoted  by  the  terms  ruminant, 
ungulate,  monodelpliian,  mammal,  vertebrate,  and  animal. 
The  perception  of  an  apple  implies  numerous  antecedent 
experiences  of  colour,  size,  configuration,  smoothness,  odour, 
and  taste.  And  in  like  manner,  though  we  have  provisionally 
defined  a  sensation  as  an  "  elementary  state  of  conscious- 
ness," yet  we  have  also  seen  that,  in  order  to  become  truly 
conscious  of  a  sensation,  we  must  know  it,  or,  in  other  words, 
must  classify  it  with  some  like  sensation  previously  felt 


CH.  xv.J  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND,  121 

In  short,  we  have  seen  that  there  can  be  no  cognition,  of 
whatever  order,  which  is  not  a  recognition,  necessarily  im- 
plying some  previous  combination  of  psychical  states.  How, 
then,  it  is  asked,  can  there  be  any  first  cognition?  How 
can  intelligence  ever  begin  at  all,  if  the  first  and  simplest 
intelligent  act  implies  a  reference  to  experiences  which,  in 
accordance  with  the  theory,  must  have  preceded  any  intel- 
ligent act  ? 

Formidable  as  this  objection  may  seem,  and  unanswerable 
as  it  would  have  been,  if  urged  half  a  century  ago,  it  has 
to-day  no  force  whatever;  and  those  who  now  deliberately 
urge  it  succeed  only  in  betraying  their  entire  lack  of  acquaint- 
ance with  the  progress  which  psychology  has  made  since 
the  times  of  Eeid  and  Stewart.  As  long  as  psychological 
questions  were  settled  simply  by  introspection — by  observing 
what  goes  on  in  the  consciousness  of  adult  civilized  man — 
the  objection  here  cited  must  have  seemed  conclusive.  But 
familiarity  with  the  conception  of  evolution  has  now  led  us 
to  regard  things  in  general,  not  as  coming  at  once  into 
fulness  of  being,  but  as  gradually  beginning  to  be ;  and  in  the 
case  of  the  phenomena  of  intelligence,  this  view  of  the  ques- 
tion is  amply  justified  by  experiments  in  objective  psycho- 
logy presently  to  be  mentioned.  The  conception  of  an 
absolutely  first  cognition,  not  determined  by  previous  psy- 
chical states,  rests  upon  a  fallacy  similar  to  that  upon  which 
rested  the  preformation  theory  in  biology.  Just  as  it  was 
formerly  held  that  the  embryo  started  as  a  fully-developed 
organism,  differing  from  an  adult  organism  only  in  size,  so 
the  objection  which  we  are  now  considering  involves  the 
hypothesis  that  the  earliest  cognitions  of  an  infant  are  like 
ctiose  of  an  adult  in  point  of  definiteness,  the  only  difference 
being  in  the  quantity  of  them.  The  latter  hypothesis  is  as 
contrary  as  the  former  to  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  and  it 
is  quite  as  decidedly  negatived  by  the  observation  of  facts. 
For,  let  us  observe  what  is  implied  by  the  acquiring  of  a 


122  COSMIC  PHILOSOFHY.  [pt,  il 

definite  cognition  by  an  infant.     If  the  foregoing  analysis  be 
taken  as  correct,  it  is  obvious  that  when  any  object,  as  an 
orange,  is  first  presented  to  the  mind  of  an  infant,  it  cannot 
be  perceived  or  identified  as  an  orange.     Before  this  intel- 
lectual feat  can  be  achieved,  there  must  go  on  for  some  time 
that  complicated  grouping  of  visual,  tactual,  and  gustatory 
sensations  above  described.     In  accordance  with  the  esta- 
blished  theory  of  vision,  we   must   admit   that,  when   the 
orange  is   held  before   the  child's   eye,  the  only  sensation 
aroused  is  that  of  a  reddish-yellow  colour,  which  cannot  even 
be  perceived  to  be  round  until  after  it  has  been  associated 
with  sundry  tactual  sensations.     But  this  is  n§t  all.     Not 
even  the  sensation  of  a  reddish-yellow  colour  can  acquire 
definite  shape  in  consciousness,  until  sensations  of  blue,  or 
red,  or  green,  or  white  colour,  have  been  aroused,  with  which 
it  can  be  contrasted,  and  until  a  subsequent  like  sensation  of 
reddish-yellow  colour  has  been  aroused  to  which  it  can  be 
assimilated.     Observe,  now,  the  position  into  which  we  are 
brought.     We  are  obliged  to  hold  that  the  first  sensation  of 
orange-colour  cannot,  strictly  speaking,  exist  as  a  sensation 
at  all ;  wliile,  nevertheless,  a  subsequent  sensation  of  orange- 
colour  (not,  in  any  actual  case,  the  second,  but  the  twentieth 
or  hundredth)  occurring  after  intervening  sensations  of  blue 
or  green,  can  acquire  definite  shape  as  a  sensation  by  being 
compared  with  this  first  sensation  which  is  not  strictly  a 
sensation.     Obviously,  then,  though  the  first  presentation  of 
orange-colour  cannot  awaken  a  visual  sensation  which  can  be 
known  as  such,  it  must  produce  some  psychical  state  which 
is  real,  though  not  known.     For  if  no  psychical  state  were 
produced   by   the   first    presentation,   then   the    second,   or 
twentieth,  or  hundredth  presentation  could  no  more  awaken 
a  definite  state  of  consciousness  than  the  first.     We  are  thus 
led  to   the   assertion   that   states   of  consciousness  may  be 
produced  by  the  differential   grouping  or   compounding  of 
psychical  states  which  are  beneath  consciousness. 


CH.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  123 

Now,  this  conclusion,  which  admirably  explains  the  btgin- 
nings  of  conscious  intelligence  in  the  young  child,  is  com- 
pletely confirmed  by  experiments  lately  madiB  with  reference 
to  the  continuous  genesis  of  sensations  in  the  adult.  Not 
only  does  the  infant  frame  its  earliest  conscious  sensations 
by  the  compounding  of  unconscious  or  sub-conscious  psy- 
chical changes,  but  in  every  sensation  of  sound,  colour, 
odour,  taste,  or  touch,  which  the  adult  receives,  there  is  a 
precisely  similar  formation  of  a  conscious  state  by  the  com- 
pounding of  unconscious  or  sub-conscious  psychical  states. 
In  the  case  of  sound,  the  evidence  for  this  statement  amounts 
to  complete  demonstration ;  the  evidence  is  hardly  less 
strong  in  the  case  of  sight;  and,  in  the  case  of  the  other 
senses,  all  the  evidence  thus  far  obtained  points  toward  the 
same  conclusion.  Let  us  first  examine  the  composition  of  a 
sensation  of  sound,  as  admirably  elucidated  by  M.  Taine  in 
his  recent  treatise  on  "  Intelligence." 

In  musical  sounds  three  characteristics  are  to  be  distin- 
guished— loudness,  pitch,  and  quality  or  timbre.  The  first 
of  these,  the  loudness,  depends  upon  the  amplitude  of  the 
atmospheric  waves  by  which  the  sensation  of  sound  is  caused. 
A  series  of  sound-producing  waves,  like  any  other  series  of 
waves,  has  its  elevations  and  depressions,  and  the  height  of 
the  elevation  above  the  depression  is  called  the  ampUtiule  of 
the  wave.  The  loudness  of  the  sound  varies  as  the  square 
of  the  wave's  amplitude.  From  this  it  follows  that  every 
elementary  sound  has  a  period  of  minimum  intensity, 
answering  to  the  wave's  minimum  amplitude  when  it  is  just 
beginning  to  rise ;  secondly,  a  period  of  maximum  intensity 
Sinwering  to  the  wave's  maximum  amplitude  when  it  has 
risen  to  its  greatest  height ;  and,  thirdly,  a  period  of  mini- 
mum intensity,  answering  to  the  wave's  minimum  amplitude 
when  it  has  sunk  nearly  to  the  level  again  ;  while  between 
chese  minima  and  the  maximum  there  are  many  varying 
degrees   of  loudnesa      In   other  words,   every   elementary 


124  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.  tt 

sound  is  at  first  faint,  then  gradually  becomes  loud,  then 
grows  fainter,  till  it  disappears.  Now,  note  what  happens 
when  elementary  sounds  are  made  to  succeed  each  other. 
If  the  succession  be  irregular,  there  is  a  mere  chaos  of 
noises — a  case  with  which  we  need  not  here  deal.  But  if 
the  succession  he  regular,  and  steadily  increase  in  rapidity, 
there  follows  a  remarkable  series  of  results.  As  long  as  the 
waves  or  pulses  answering  to  the  elementary  sounds  succeed 
each  other  slowly,  the  sounds  are  distinguishable  from  each 
other  as  raps  or  puffs,  according  to  the  instrument  employed, 
and  each  has  its  maximum  and  its  two  minima  of  intensity. 
But,  when  the  waves  begin  to  strike  the  ear  at  the  rate  of 
about  sixteen  in  a  second,  the  consciousness  of  separate  raps 
or  puffs  becomes  evanescent,  and  there  arises  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  continuous  tone  of  very  low  pitch.  That  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  separate  sounds  has  not  quite  ceased,  and 
that  the  continuousness  of  the  tone  which  they  compose  is 
not  complete,  are  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  maxima  and 
minima  are  still  perceived.  In  the  deepest  bass-notes  of  an 
organ,  for  example,  the  pulsations  are  clearly  distinguishable 
— a  fact  which  proves  that  we  are  conscious  of  the  effects 
answering  respectively  to  the  protuberances  and  to  the 
hollows  of  the  waves.  Now,  the  pitch  of  a  tone  depends 
upon  the  rapidity  with  which  the  waves  succeed  each  other, 
and,  therefore,  upon  their  length,  or  the  distance  between 
two  successive  hollows,  because  as  the  waves  come  faster 
they  grow  shorter.  The  shorter  the  waves,  the  higher  the 
pitch.  Hence,  as  the  pitch  rises,  the  protuberance  of  any 
wave  approaches  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  protuberances  of 
the  waves  immediately  behind  it  and  in  front  of  it,  and  the 
maximum  intensities  of  sound  which  answer  to  the  protuber- 
ances become  crowded  together  in  consciousness.  The  result 
is  that,  after  a  while,  the  maxima  and  minima  are  no  longer 
distinguishable  by  the  ear,  so  that  by  no  effort  of  attention 
can  we  discern  the  elementary  pulses  of  which  the  tone  is 


ou.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND,  1S5 

composed.  The  tone  asserts  itself  to  be  completely  homo- 
geneous. All  that  mere  introspection  could  discover  in 
consciousness  would  be  an  apparently  simple  sensation  of 
musical  tone.  Yet  into  the  composition  of  this  sensation 
there  enter  a  thousand  or  several  thousand  psychical  states 
answering  to  the  presence  of  as  many  elementary  sounds 
with  their  maxima  and  minima  of  intensity.  And  if  any 
one  of  these  elementary  sub-conscious  psychical  states  were 
absent,  the  character  of  the  conscious  sensation  would  be 
different  from  what  it  is. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Every  musical  tone  has  a  timhre  or 
quality  of  its  own,  according  as  it  proceeds  from  a  piano,  a 
violin,  a  flute,  or  any  other  instrument.  Now,  Helmholtz 
has  proved  that  the  quality  of  any  tone  is  due  solely  to  the 
number  and  combinations  of  certain  higher  and  fainter  tones 
which  accompany  it.  Along  with  the  fundamental  note 
there  are  heard  sundry  harmonic  notes,  due  to  vibrations 
from  two  to  ten  times  more  rapid  than  those  which  con- 
stitute the  fundamental  note.  When  any  note  is  sounded 
on  the  piano,  the  first  six  harmonics  are  sounded  with  it ; 
when  the  same  note  is  sounded  on  the  violin,  by  means  of 
the  bow,  the  first  six  harmonics  are  sounded  so  feebly  as  to 
be  overpowered  by  the  seventh,  eighth,  ninth,  and  tenth ; 
and  this  is  the  only  cause  of  the  difference  in  quality  of  tone 
between  the  piano  and  the  violin.  Now,  by  an  effort  of 
attention  these  harmonic  over-tones  may  be  recognized  as 
distinct  sensations  when  two  or  three  notes  are  slowly 
struck.  But  in  ordinarily  rapid  playing  they  are  not  dis- 
tinctly recognized.  Their  only  effect  is  to  impart  to  the 
tones  that  peculiar  quality  which  enables  the  ear  to  re- 
cognize the  instrument  from  which  they  emanate.  Thus 
our  apparently  simple  sensations  of  musical  sound  are  enor- 
mously complex.  When  F-in-alt  is  sounded  on  the  violin, 
there  are  produced,  in  the  course  of  a  single  second,  several 
thousand  psychical  states  which  together  make  up  the  sen* 


126  COSMIC  PEILOSOPHT.  [pt.  n. 

BatioQ  of  pitch,  fifty-five  times  as  many  psychical  states 
which  together  make  up  the  sensation  of  quality,  and  an 
immense  number  of  other  psychical  states  which  together 
make  up  the  sensation  of  intensity.  These  psychical  states 
are  not,  in  any  strict  sense  of  the  term,  states  of  conscious- 
ness ;  for,  if  they  were  to  rise  individually  into  conscious- 
ness, the  result  would  be  an  immense  multitude  of  sensa- 
tions, and  not  a  single  homogeneous  sensation.  There  is  no 
alternative,  therefore,  but  to  conclude  that  in  this  case  a 
seemingly  simple  state  of  consciousness  is  in  reality  com- 
poTinded  of  an  immense  multitude  of  sub-conscious  psychical 
changes. 

Returning,  now,  to  what  we  have  called  the  elementary 
sound,  by  the  manifold  compounding  of  which  all  cognizable 
tones,  qualities,  and  intensities  are  built  up,  we  shall  the 
more  readily  yield  to  the  evidence  which  shows  that  even 
this  primitive  unit  of  sound  is  not  elementary.  For,  as  M. 
Taine  observes,  each  so-called  elementary  sound,  in  passing 
from  its  minimum  to  its  maximum,  passes  through  an 
infinite  series  of  degrees  of  intensity,  and,  unless  there  were 
some  psychical  modification  corresponding  to  each  increment 
of  intensity,  there  would  be  no  state  of  consciousness  answer- 
ing to  the  total  rise  from  the  minimum  to  the  maximum. 
Again,  while,  for  simplicity's  sake,  we  have  assumed  that 
each  of  the  raps  or  puffs  which  occur  too  slowly  to  be  heard 
as  a  single  tone  of  lowest  pitch  is  heard  by  itself  as  an  ele- 
mentary sensation,  this  is  not  strictly  true.  For  the  so- 
called  simple  sensation  must  be  either  a  sensation  of  musical 
tone  or  a  sensation  of  noise.  In  the  former  case  its  composite 
character  has  been  already  show|j.  In  the  latter  case,  in  the 
sensation  of  noise,  rap,  or  puff,  the  truly  primitive  elements 
are  sub-conscious  psychical  states  answering  to  successive 
waves  of  unequal  lengths.  Any  one  of  these  waves  by  itself 
:viU  not  produce  a  genuine  state  of  consciousness  ;  it  is  only 
by  compounding  the  sub-conscious  psychical  affections  which 


ta.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  127 

they  severally  produce,  that  we  obtain  the  so-called  elemen- 
tary sensation  of  noise  or  rap. 

In  every  way,  therefore,  the  conclusion  is  forced  upon  us 
that  every  one  of  our  apparently  simple  auditory  sensations 
is  made  up  of  a  vast  multitude  of  psychical  affections,  of 
which  the  really  simple  oues  would  never  rise  into  con- 
sciousness save  by  being  joined  with  others.  Our  simplest 
cognizable  sensation  of  sound  is  in  reality  a  compound  of  the 
fourth  or  fifth,  or  even  of  some  higher,  order. 

In  the  case  of  visual  sensations,  the  same  conclusion  is 
reached  by  a  precisely  similar  argument,  sensations  of  colour 
differing  from  those  of  sound  only  as  answering  to  wave- 
lengths immeasurably  shorter  and  more  rapid  in  succession. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  insist  upon  the  manifold  analogies  be- 
tween sound  and  light,  which  are  each  day  brought  more 
vividly  before  the  attention  of  the  physical  inquirer,  as,  for 
example,  in  the  wonderful  but  plausible  hypothesis  lately  pro- 
pounded, that  all  the  lines  in  the  spectrum  are  simply  the 
harmonic  overtones  of  a  fundamental  colour,  which,  being  a 
couple  of  octaves  below  red,  is  itself  invisible.  Eestricting 
our  statement  to  ascertained  points  of  resemblance,  it  may  be 
said  that  the  argument  from  the  phenomena  of  musical  pitch 
applies  step  by  step  to  the  phenomena  of  colour  as  we  rise  in 
the  scale  from  red  to  violet ;  the  only  difference  being  that, 
as  the  slowest  vibrations  which  the  eye  receives  occur  at  the 
Tate  of  about  458,000,000,000,000  in  a  second,  we  cannot 
xperimentally  distinguish,  as  in  the  case  of  the  lowest 
tDunds,  the  seemingly  elementary  sensation  which  answers 
to  each  couple  of  vibrations,  Nevertheless,  from  experiments 
with  the  electric  spark  it  has  been  shown  that  a  sensation  of 
light  which  endures  for  one  second  is  composed  of  at  least  a 
million  successive  sensations,  each  one  of  which,  if  sepa- 
rately excited,  would  rise  into  consciousness  and  be  recog- 
nized as  a  flash  of  light.  Now,  as  this  flash  of  electric  light 
is  cognized  as  white,  it  follows  that  the  cognizable  sensation 


128  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ri. 

whicli  lasts  for  one-millionth  of  a  second  is  really  made  up 
of  at  least  three  sub-conscious  psychical  states,  which,  if  they 
were  severally  to  rise  into  consciousness,  would  be  severally 
cognized  as  red,  green,  and  violet  flashes — these  being  the 
primitive  elements  of  which  the  consciousness  of  white  light 
is  composed.  This  fact  alone  shows  that  the  method  by 
which  a  sensation  is  formed  out  of  sub-conscious  psychical 
changes  is  essentially  the  same  in  the  eye  and  in  the  ear. 

No  such  elaborate  investigations  have  been  made  with  re- 
ference to  the  other  peripheral  sensations.  Yet,  in  the  cases 
of  smell  and  taste,  the  argument  is  not  essentially  different 
from  what  it  is  in  the  cases  of  hearing  and  vision.  The 
physical  antecedent,  either  of  smell  or  taste,  is  a  chemical 
reaction  between  particles  of  the  odorous  or  sapid  substance, 
and  the  ends  of  the  olfactory  or  gustatory  nerve-fibrils.  Now, 
a  chemical  reaction  implies  an  enormous  number  of  undu- 
latory  movements  by  which  myriads  of  molecules  are  seeking 
to  reach  a  position  of  equilibrium.  Accordingly,  the  end  of 
the  nerve-fibrils  in  the  olfactory  chamber  or  in  the  tongue 
must  be  rapidly  smitten  by  little  molecular  waves,  just  as  the 
auditory  filaments  are  smitten  by  atmospheric  waves ;  and 
thus  there  is  indicated  a  course  of  argument  similar  to  that 
employed  in  the  case  of  sound.  It  may  be  fairly  argued  that 
if  each  wave  does  not  produce  some  sub-conscious  psychical 
effect,  the  sum  of  the  waves  will  not  produce  a  state  of 
consciousness  known  as  smell  or  taste;  so  that  here  too 
the  seemingly  primitive  sensation  is  really  derivative  and 
compound. 

M.  Taine's  argument  with  reference  to  the  tactile  sensa- 
tions is  singularly  beautiful,  but  no  room  is  left  for  more  than 
the  briefest  allusion  to  a  few  of  its  salient  points.  All  tactile 
sensations  are  either  dermal  or  muscular;  that  is,  they  are  due 
either  to  disturbances  of  nerve-fibrils  embedded  in  the  skin,  or 
to  disturbances  of  nerve- fibrils  embedded  in  the  extremities  of 
the  muscles  lying  under  the  skin.    In  the  first  case,  the  sensa- 


cii.  XV.]  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  129 

tion  is  either  of  contact  or  of  temperature;  in  the  second  case, 
there  is  a  sensation  of  resistance  or  pressure;  and  in  Loth 
cases,  when  the  sensation  proper  to  the  nerve  is  prolonged  or 
intensified  beyond  a  certain  degree,  it  is  at  first  acccmpanied 
and  finally  supplanted  by  a  sensation  of  pain.  Now,  Weber's 
experiments  have  shown  that  these  differences  in  sensation 
are  not  due  to  the  excitation  of  distinct  nerves,  but  to  the 
differently-combined  excitation  of  the  filaments  of  the  same 
nerves.  The  difference  between  the  sensation  of  contact  and 
the  sensation  of  temperature  depends  upon  the  order  in  which 
the  filaments  of  a  particular  nerve  are  set  in  vibration.  And 
thus,  as  Fick  observes,  we  may  understand  why  it  is  difficult 
to  distinguish  between  a  prick  from  a  needle  and  a  minute 
burn  from  a  spark  of  fire;  for  the  nearer  we  approach  to  a 
truly  elementary  sensation,  the  more  evanescent  becomes  the 
distinction  between  the  compound  sensation  of  temperature  and 
that  of  mechanical  contact.  On  the  contrary,  when  a  larger 
area  of  skin  is  suddenly  rubbed  or  burnt,  so  that  enough  nerves 
are  brought  into  play  to  compound  the  elements  of  the  sensa- 
tions, then  there  is  no  difficulty  in  distinguishing  the  feeling 
of  temperature  from  that  of  mechanical  contact.  From  these 
and  many  other  kindred  facts,  to  which  scanty  justice  is  done 
by  this  cursory  allusion,  M.  Taine  very  plausibly  concludes 
that  our  ordinary  tactile  sensations  are  made  up  of  little 
component  psychical  affections  differing  only  in  number, 
order,  and  duration ;  while,  according  as  these  elementary 
psychical  states  are  differently  compounded,  they  form  con- 
scious sensations  which,  as  presented  to  consciousness,  seem 
to  be  severally  simple  and  distinct  in  kind. 

Throughout  this  remarkable  analysis  questions  are  sug- 
gested which  can  be  completely  answered  only  when  physics 
and  chemistry,  as  well  as  physiology  and  psychology,  are 
much  more  advanced  than  at  present.  Yet  there  are  three 
Important  principles  which  we  may  regard  as  established  in 
the  case  of  sound,  and  as  clearly  indicated  in  the  case  of  the 

VOL.  II.  K 


130  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

other  sensations.  The  Jirst  is,  that  sensations  which  are 
apparently  simple  and  elementary,  and  which  cannot  be 
analyzed  by  mere  observation  of  consciousness,  are.  neverthe- 
less compounded  of  many  successive  and  simultaneous  sensa- 
tions, which  are  themselves  compounded  of  still  lower 
psychical  affections.  The  second  is,  that  two  sensations, 
which  differ  only  in  the  mode  in  which  their  elements  are 
compounded,  may  appear  in  consciousness  as  generically 
different  and  irreducible  to  each  other.  The  third  is,  that 
two  or  more  psychical  affections  which,  taken  separately,  are 
as  non-existent  to  consciousness,  may,  nevertheless,  when 
taken  together,  coalesce  into  a  sensation  which  is  present  to 
consciousness.  And  when  these  three  conclusions  are  pre- 
sented in  a  single  statement,  they  become  equivalent  to  the 
conclusion  above  obtained  from  examining  the  beginnings  of 
conscious  intelligence  in  an  infant;  namely,  that  states  of 
consciousness  may  be  produced  by  the  differential  grouping 
or  compounding  of  psychical  states  which  are  beneath 
consciousness. 

This  result  is  in  entire  harmony  with  what  might  be  in- 
ferred d  priori  from  the  known  characteristics  of  nerve- 
action.  Whether  in  the  grey  substance  of  ganglia,  or  in  the 
white  substance  of  nerve-fibres,  the  physical  action  which 
accompanies  psychical  changes  is  an  undulatory  displace- 
ment of  molecules  resulting  in  myriads  of  little  waves 
or  pulses  of  movement.  From  this  fact  we  might  have 
suspected  that,  as  a  cognizable  state  of  consciousness  is 
attended  by  the  transmission  of  a  number  of  little  waves 
from  one  nerve-cell  to  another,  so  the  ultimate  psychical 
elements  of  each  conscious  state  must  correspond  to  the 
passage  of  these  little  waves  taken  one  by  one.  And  this 
inference,  which  by  itself  would  be  only  a  plausible  guess,  is 
raised  to  the  rank  of  a  scientific  hypothesis  by  its  harmony 
with  the  results  of  the  analysis  above  sketched. 

Thus  we  are  led  to  infer,  as  the  ultimate  unit  of  wliich 


cu.xv.]  TRE  COMPOSITION  OF  MIND.  131 

^rind  is  composed,  a  simple  psychical  skoc\  answering  to 
that  simple  'physical  pulsation  which  is  the  ultimate  unit  of 
nervous  action.  By  the  manifold  and  diverse  compounding 
of  myriads  of  such  primitive  psychical  shocks,  according 
to  the  slight  structural  differences  of  different  nerves,  are 
formed  innumerable  elementary  sensations,  which  appear 
to  be  genei-ically  different ;  just  as  aquafortis  and  laughing- 
gas,  which  seem  generically  different,  yet  differ  really  only 
in  the  proportions  of  nitrogen  and  oxygen  which  compose 
them.  By  a  similar  differential  compounding  of  these 
elementary  sensations,  we  get  complex  sensations  of  blue- 
ness  and  redness,  warmth,  pressure,  sweetness,  roughness, 
and  of  various  kinds  of  timbre  and  degrees  of  pitch.  Carry- 
ing still  farther  the  same  process  of  differentiation  and  inte- 
gration, we  rise  step  by  step  to  perceptions  of  greater  and 
greater  complexity,  to  conscious  classifications,  and  to  rea- 
soning in  its  various  forms,  from  the  crude  inferences  of  the 
child,  barbarian,  or  boor,  to  the  subtle  and  indirect  combina- 
tions of  the  artist  and  the  scientific  discoverer.  Thus,  amid 
all  their  endless  diversities,  we  discern,  though  dimly,  a 
fundamental  unity  of  composition  throughout  all  orders  of 
psychical  activity,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest. 

Near  the  close  of  his  first  edition  of  the  "  Origin  of 
Species,"  Mr.  Darwin  predicted  that  the  establishment  of 
his  theory  would  eventually  place  the  science  of  psychology 
upon  a  new  basis — that  of  the  acquirement  of  each  mental 
faculty  by  slow  gradations.^  We  seem  now  to  have  fairly 
started  upon  the  path  which  leads  to  this  desired  goal.  For, 
while,  among  the  mental  operations  above  analyzed,  some 
are  peculiar  to  the  highest  human  intelligence,  there  are 
others  which  are  shared  by  the  highest  and  the  lowest  human 

*  Mr.  Darwin  has  since  recognized  that  this  new  basis  is  already  well  laid 
by  Mr.  Spencer.  See  Origin  of  Species,  6th  edit.,  p.  428.  Indeed  the 
'Principles  of  Psychology,"  upon  Avliich  the  present  chapter  is  almost 
/utirely  founded,  was  first  published  in  1855,  four  years  before  the  "Origin 
at'  Species." 

L  2 


133  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  n. 

iutelligence.  Others — as  the  simplest  inferences,  several 
complex  perceptions,  and  all  the  most  simple  ones — are 
shared  by  all  human  intelligence  with  the  intelligence  of 
apes,  dogs,  horses,  and  indeed  of  the  majority  of  mammals, 
many  birds,  and  possibly  some  lower  animals.  Others,  again 
— as  the  simplest  perceptive  acts  implied  in  recognizing  a 
sensation — must  be  shared  with  all  those  animals  whose 
nervous  system  is  sufficiently  complex  to  allow  of  their 
having  any  consciousness  whatever.  While  others,  finally 
— as  the  simplest  sub-conscious  groupings  of  primitive 
psychical  shocks — must  be  shared  by  humanity  with  all 
those  forms  of  animal  existence  which  possess  any  nervous 
structure  whatever.  For  instance,  that  reflex  action  which 
occurs  when  the  foot  of  a  sleeping  person,  casually  moved 
into  a  cold  part  of  the  bed,  is  quickly  withdrawn  without 
arousing  any  state  of  consciousness,  involves  the  activity  of 
a  fragment  of  the  human  nervous  system  which  corresponds 
in  general  structure  to  the  entire  nervous  system  of  a  medusa 
or  jelly-fish.  In  such  lowly  creatures,  then,  we  must  sup- 
pose that  the  psychical  actions  which  go  on  are  similar  to 
our  own  sub-conscious  psychical  actions.  And,  clearly,  if 
we  could  trace  the  slow  increments  by  which  the  nervous 
system  has  grown  in  heterogeneity,  definiteness,  and  co- 
herence, during  the  countless  ages  which  have  witnessed  the 
progress  from  the  primeval  marine  vertebrate  to  the  civilized 
modern  man,  we  should  also  be  able  to  trace  the  myriad 
stages  of  the  composition  of  mind,  from  the  reflex  contrac- 
tions of  a  rudimentary  fin,  up  to  the  generalizations  of  an 
Aj-istotle  or  a  Newton. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND. 

That  tlie  amcant  of  intelligence  manifested  by  any  vertebrate 
animal  depends  to  a  certain  extent  upon  the  amount  of  nerve- 
tissue  integrated  in  its  cephalic  ganglia,  and  especially  in  the 
cerebrum,  is  a  truth  familiar  to  everyone,  though  often  crudely 
stated  and  incorrectly  interpreted.  In  the  lowest  vertebrate, 
the  amphioxus,  there  is  no  brain  at  all.  In  fishes,  the  cere- 
brum and  cerebellum  are  much  smaller  tha'xi  the  optic  lobes  ; 
the  cerebrum  being  in  many  large  fishes  about  the  size  of  a 
pea,  though  in  the  shark  it  reaches  the  size  of  a  plum.  Con- 
tinuing to  grow  by  the  addition  of  concentric  layers  at  the 
surface,  the  cerebrum  becomes  somewhat  larger  in  birds  and 
in  the  lower  mammals.  It  gradually  covers  up  the  optic 
lobes,  and  extends  backwards  as  we  pass  to  higher  mamma- 
lian forms,  until  in  the  anthropoid  apes  and  in  man  it  covers 
the  whole  upper  surface  of  the  cerebellum.  In  these  highest 
animals  it  begins  also  to  extend  forwards.  In  the  chimpanzee 
and  gorilla  the  anterior  portion  of  the  cerebrum  is  larger  than 
in  inferior  mammals ;  but  in  these  animals,  as  in  the  lowest 
races  of  men,  the  frontal  extension  is  but  slight,  and  the  fore- 
head is  both  low  and  narrow.  In  civilized  man,  the  anterior 
portion  of  the  cerebrum  is  greatly  extended  both  vertically 
and  laterally.  As  already  observed,  the  most  prominent 
physiological  feature  of  human  progress  has  been  the  growth 
jf  the  cerebrum.     The  cranial  capacity  of  an  averag    Euro- 


134  COSMIC  PEILOSOPRT.  Lpt.ii. 

pean  exceeds  that  of  the  Australians  and  Bushmen  by  nearly 
forty  cubic  inches  ;  and  the  expansion  is  chiefly  in  the  upper 
and  anterior  portions. 

But  this  parallelism  between  increased  intelligence  and 
increased  size  of  the  cerebrum  is  complicated  by  a  further 
parallelism  between  the  amount  of  intelligence  and  the 
irregular  creasing  and  furrowing  of  the  cerebral  surface.  In 
the  higher  mammals  both  the  cerebrum  and  the  cerebellum 
are  convoluted.  But  the  convolutions  do  not  correspond  with 
any  "  bumps,"  real  or  imaginary,  on  the  external  surface  of 
the  skull ;  they  are  not  symmetrical  on  opposite  sides,  like 
the  fancied  "  organs  "  of  the  phrenologists  ;  nor  indeed,  so  far 
as  the  general  brain-surface  is  concerned,  do  they  constitute 
elevations  and  depressions  at  all.  The  surface  of  the  brain 
does  not  resemble  a  group  of  hills  and  valleys,  but  rather  a 
perfectly  smooth  table-land  cut  here  and  there  by  very  steep 
and  narrow  chasms.  A  perfectly  smooth  lump  of  butter, 
irregularly  furrowed  by  a  sharp  knife  held  perpendicularly, 
would  present  a  surface  like  that  of  the  human  brain.  Now 
che  amount  of  intelligence  depends  in  some  way  on  the 
number  and  irregularity  of  these  furrows.  In  the  lowest 
monodelphian  mammals,  as  the  rodents  and  the  lowest 
monkeys,  there  are  no  furrows,  or  only  a  few  very  shallow 
ones.  In  the  carnivora  and  ungulata,  there  are  numerous 
furrows,  some  of  them  tolerably  deep,  but  all  of  them 
symmetrically  arranged.  As  we  proceed  to  the  higher 
apes,  we  find  the  furrows  increasing  in  number  and  depth, 
though  not  yet  losing  their  symmetry  of  arrangement. 
Idiots,  young  children,  and  adult  savages  have  these  creases 
few  and  regular ;  and  in  the  lower  races  their  arrangement 
is  similar  in  different  individuals.  But  in  civilized  man 
the  creases  are  very  numerous,  deep  and  irregular ;  and  they 
are  not  alike  in  any  two  individuals.^ 

^  Phrenologists  have  done  good  service  by  familiarizing  the  unlearued 
public  with  the  fact  that  the  c^uautity  of  mental  capacity  is  related  to  tht 


CH.  XVI.]  TEE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  135 

The  convolutions  into  which  the  human  brain  is  divided 
by  these  furrows,  consist  for  the  most  part  of  "eight  distinct 
and  concentric  layers,  formed  chiefly  of  closely-packed  fibres, 
and  of  crowds  of  cells  of  very  different  shapes,  the  layers 
differing  in  the  relative  proportion  of  cells  and  fibres,  and  in 
the  manner  of  their  arrangement."  ^  Each  cell  sends  forth 
processes  with  which  the  tissue  of  certain  fibres  becomes 
continuous.  The  office  of  the  fibres  is  to  establish  communi- 
cation between  the  cells.  Between  millions  of  these  cells 
there  run  millions  of  fibres,  establishing  communications  in 
all  directions.  And  the  elaborate  researches  of  Schroede^ 
van  der  Kolk  have  gone  far  to  prove  that  the  shapes  of  th« 
cells  and  the  intricacy  of  their  communications  vary  with 
the  amount  of  intelligence.  In  various  forms  of  mental 
disease,  both  cells  and  fibres  undergo  pathological  changes, 
such  as  atrophy,  hardening,  softening,  or  some  other  form  of 
degeneration.  That  is  to  say,  not  only  are  the  activities  oi 
the  cells  impeded,  but  the  channels  of  communication  are 
variously  obliterated  or  blocked  up. 

quantity  of  brain.  But  the  character  of  this  relationship  is  seriously  mis- 
interpreted both  by  phrenologists  and  by  the  rest  of  the  unlearned  public. 
It  is  impossible  to  say  that  a  man  with  an  unusually  large  head  must  be  a 
man  of  unusual  mental  capacit}',  because  the  quantity  of  mental  capacity 
depends  on  many  other  factors  besides  quantity  of  brain.  It  not  only 
depends  upon  the  sinuous  creasing  of  the  brain-surface  here  described,  which 
can  in  nowise  be  detected  by  an  examination  of  the  outside  of  the  head,  but 
it  also  depends  largely,  as  Mr.  Lewes  well  reminds  us,  upon  the  very  im- 
portant element  of  vascular  irrigation.  "  Many  individual  variations  in 
mental  character  depend  on  the  variations  in  the  calibre  of  the  cerebral 
and  carotid  trunks — and  many  variations  in  the  intellectual,  emotive,  and 
active  tendencies  depend  on  the  relative  importance  of  the  cerebral  and 
carotid  trinks.  The  energy  of  the  brain  depends  mainly  on  the  calibre  of  its 
arteries ;  the  special  directions  of  that  energy  depend  on  the  territorial  dis- 
trihution." — Frollcms  of  Life  and  Mind,  vol.  i.  p.  151.  Again,  the  quantity 
of  available  mental  energy  which  can  be  evolved  in  a  given  period  of  time, 
depends,  to  a  very  great  extent,  upon  the  efficiency  with  which  the  blood  is 
supplied  with  ox3'gen  and  freed  from  carbonic  acid  ;  so  that  mental  capacity 
not  only  depends  upon  capacity  of  brain,  but  also  apon  capacity  oF  lungs  and 
liver.  In  short,  a  thorough  examination  shows  that  while  Mind  is  most 
Jirectly  correlated  with  P.iain,  it  is  indirectly  but  closely  correlated  with  the 
entire  organism.  So  that  the  attempt  to  estimate  individual  differences  in 
mental  capacity  by  referring  to  brain-size  alone,  is  an  utter  absurdity. 
*  Maudsley,  Physiology  and  Pathology  of  Mind,  p.  55. 


136  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHT.  [pt.  IL 

Between  these  fibres  and  cells  there  are  differences  of  mole- 
cular structure  implying  differences  in  molecular  activity. 
While  the  matter  composing  a  cell  is  built  up  in  enormously 
complex  aggregates  of  molecules,  wholly  unshielded  from 
external  disturbance,  the  nerve-matter  of  a  fibre  is  protected 
throughout  its  entire  length  by  a  membranous  sheath.  And 
while  it  is  probable  that  the  action  going  on  in  a  cell  consists 
in  the  continual  fall  of  unstably  arranged  molecules  into  a  state 
of  more  stable  equilibrium,  from  which  a  fresh  rush  of  blood  is 
continually  raising  them  to  their  former  unstable  state  ;  it  is 
probable  that  the  action  going  on  in  a  fibre  consists  in  the 
successive  isomeric  transformations  and  retransformations  of 
the  systems  of  molecules  which  make  up  the  fibre.  These 
conclusions  are  quite  probable,  though  not  proven.  But  it  is 
entirely  proved  that  a  cell  is  a  place  where  nervous  energy  is 
liberated,  while  a  fibre  is  a  path  along  which  nervous  energy 
is  transmitted. 

Bearing  all  this  in  mind,  it  appears  that  the  cerebrum  and 
cerebellum  are  places  where  countless  centres  are  constantly 
liberating  nervous  energy,  and  where  this  liberated  energy  is 
continually  liowing  along  definite  channels  and  from  one  centre 
to  another.  But  to  make  the  statement  complete,  we  should 
add  that  much  of  the  liberated  energy  is  drafted  off  along 
centrifugal  fibres  into  the  corpora  striata,  whence  it  flows  into 
the  medulla  and  spinal  centres,  and  is  thus  diffused  over  the 
body.  Omitting  the  further  consideration  of  these  circum- 
stances, let  us  inquire  into  the  meaning  of  this  unceasing 
interchange  of  molecular  motion  between  the  innumerable 
cells  crowded  together  in  the  cerebrum  and  cerebellum. 
In  other  words,  what  are  the  functions  of  these  supreme 
ganglia  ? 

That  their  functions  are  not  in  any  degree  the  direct  co- 
ordino.tion  of  sensations  and  movements,  would  appear  from 
the  fact  that  these  direct  coordinations  are  already  made  in 
the  spinal  cord  and  in  the  medulla.    All  the  muscular  adjust- 


CH.  XVI.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  137 

ments  made  in  the  trunk  and  limbs  are  effected  either 
directly  by  the  spinal  centres,  or  indirectly  by  the  sympa- 
thetic ganglia  in  cooperation  with  the  spinal  centres.  The 
medulla  coordinates  all  these  muscular  adjustments  with  the 
muscular  adjustments  of  the  face,  and  with  the  impressions 
received  from  the  specialized  organs  of  sense.  It  is  therefore 
highly  improbable  that  the  supreme  ganglia  can  be  in  any 
way  directly  concerned  with  these  coordinations.  And  the 
improbability  is  increased  by  the  fact  that  the  cerebrum  and 
cerebellum  are  as  destitute  of  seusation  as  the  free  ends  of 
the  tiuger-nails.  Scratch  one  of  the  spinal  centres,  and  the 
result  is  tetanus.  Scratch  the  medulla,  and  the  whole  body 
is  thrown  into  terrible  convulsions.  But  the  cerebrum  and 
cerebellum  may  be  scratched  and  sliced  without  pain  or  con- 
vulsion. They  take  heed  only  of  those  impressions  which 
are  communicated  to  them  indirectly.  Countless  multitudes 
of  nerve-fibres  coming  up  from  the  medulla,  are  gathered 
together  in  the  corpora  striata ;  whence  other  fibres,  con- 
tinuing from  them,  radiate  to  the  innumerable  cells  of  which 
the  supreme  ganglia  are  composed. 

We  must  conclude,  therefore,  that  the  functions  of  the 
cerebrum  and  cerebellum  are  comprised  in  the  further  com- 
pounding of  sensory  impressions  already  compounded  in  the 
medulla.  And  as  such  compounding  involves  the  repro- 
duction of  impressions  received  in  lower  centres,  and  also 
involves  the  coordination  of  past  with  present  impressions, 
we  may  say  that  the  supreme  ganglia  are  the  seats  of  the 
higher  psychical  life, — of  memory,  reason,  emotion,  and  voli- 
tion. Dr.  Maudsley  has  thus  appropriately  termed  them  the 
ideational  centres.  But  between  the  functions  of  the  two, 
thus  closely  related,  there  is  nevertheless  a  difference. 
Although  the  precise  determination  of  the  way  in  which 
ideational  functions  are  shared  between  the  two  centres,  has 
long  remained  a  puzzling  problem,  there  is  good  reason  for 
believing   that   Mr.  Spencer  has   solved    the   difficulty   by 


138  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  h 

assigniizig  to  the  cereT^ellum  tlie  office  of  douTbly-compourd 
coordination  in  space,  and  to  the  cerebrum  the  office  of 
doubly-compound  coordination  in  time.  The  facts  of  com- 
parative anatomy,  and  of  comparative  psychology,  so  far  as 
Vnown,  are  in  harmony  with  this  opinion.  We  saw  in  the 
chapter  on  Life  and  Mind  that  the  extension  of  the  cor- 
resnondence  in  time  at  first  goes  on  parallel  with  the  exten- 
dion  of  the  correspondence  in  space ;  the  increased  area  over 
which  the  organism  can  act  being  the  measure  of  its  in- 
creased capacity  for  adapting  its  actions  to  longer  and  longer 
sequences  in  the  environment.  But  we  saw  also  that  in  the 
human  race  the  extension  of  the  correspondence  in  time  has 
gone  on  far  more  rapidly  than  the  extension  in  space;  the 
most  striking  characteristic  of  intellectual  progress  being  the 
ability  of  civilized  man  to  adapt  his  inferences  and  actions 
to  remote  contingencies.  Side  by  side  with  these  facts, 
comparative  anatomy  shows  us  that  the  cerebrum  and  cere- 
bellum at  first  keep  pace  with  each  other  in  growth ;  but, 
as  we  reach  those  higher  mammals  which  exhibit  some 
degree  of  foresight,  we  find  the  cerebrum  outgrowing  the 
cerebellum  and  overlapping  it ;  while  in  man  the  growth  of 
the  cerebrum  has  been  so  great  as  to  render  comparatively 
insignificant  all  other  changes  in  the  nervous  system.  With 
the  enormous  cerebrum  of  civilized  man  we  may  further 
contrast  the  preponderant  cerebellum  in  those  carnivoroup 
birds  whose  psychical  life  consists  chiefly  in  the  coordination 
of  those  extremely  complex  and  remote  space-relations  in- 
volved in  the  swooping  upon  prey  from  great  distances. 
The  human  cerebellum  is  absolutely  larger  than  that  of  such 
birds ;  but  its  smallness  relatively  to  the  cerebrum  is  a  fact 
parallel  with  the  simplicity  of  the  space-relations  which 
man  coordinates,  as  compared  with  the  time-relations. 
Among  the  latter  are  comprised  all  our  ideas  of  cause, 
motion,  progress, — in  a  word,  all  manifestations  of  force 
which  involve  the  relation  of  sequence.     But  these  ideas 


CH.  xvi.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  139 

make  up  by  far  the  largest  and  must  heterogeneous  portion 
01  our  psychical  life. 

I  am  inclined  to  regard  thest  considerations  as  very 
po^verful  ones, — and  there  are  several  others  which  lead  to 
the  same  conclusion.  To  present  the  case  properly  would 
require  a  whole  chapter ;  hut  it  is  not  essential  for  our  present 
purpose  that  the  question  should  be  decided.  Whether 
Mr.  Spencer's  view  of  trie  respective  functions  of  the  cere- 
"brum  and  cerebellum  be  correct  or  not,  it  equally  remains 
true  that  the  class  of  functions  shared  by  the  two  are  idea- 
tional functions.  They  compound  in  double,  triple,  quad- 
ruple, or  in  far  higher  multiples,  the  sensory  elements  already 
simply  compounded  by  the  medulla.  And  it  is  in  this  com- 
pound grouping  of  impressions,  past  and  present,  according 
to  their  various  degrees  of  likeness  and  unlikeness,  that 
tlionght  and  emotion,  the  highest  phases  of  psychical  life, 
consist. 

A  moment  ago  we  asked,  what  is  the  meaning  of  the 
3easeless  interchange  of  molecular  motion  which  goes  on 
among  the  innumerable  cells  of  the  brain?  We  now  see 
what  is  the  meaning  of  it,  for  there  can  be  but  one  meaning. 
The  continual  redistribution  of  nervous  energy  among  the 
cells,  is  the  objective  side  of  the  process  of  which  the  sub- 
jective side  is  the  recompounding  of  impressions.  If  we 
may  for  a  moment  unduly  simplify  the  matter,  it  may  be 
said  that  for  every  renewed  grouping  of  impressions,  for 
every  revived  association  of  ideas,  there  is  a  nervous  dis- 
charge between  two  or  more  cells,  along  formerly-used  sets 
of  transit-fibres  ;  and  for  every  fresh  grouping  of  impressions, 
for  every  new  connection  of  ideas,  there  is  a  discharge  along 
new  transit-lines.  In  reality  the  matter  cannot  be  so  simple 
as  this,  since,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  the  maintenance  of 
consciousness  implies  a  state  of  tension  betw^een  many  simul- 
taneous discharges.  But  however  great  the  complexity,  the 
principle  remains  the  same. 


140  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  il 

If  it  be  objected  to  tliis  view  tliat  it  obliges  us  to  assume 
a  vast  amount  of  differentiation  and  integration  in  the  brain, 
during  the  lifetime  of  single  individuals,  it  may  be  replied 
that  the  assumption  is  fully  sustained,  both  by  sound  deduc- 
tion and  by  observation.  Not  only  does  the  brain  increase  in 
size  and  heterogeneity  during  the  first  twenty-five  years  of 
life,  but  ordinarily  it  increases  in  heterogeneity,  and  often  in 
size,  for  many  years  later ;  and  in  some  cases  it  increases  in 
heterogeneity  until  the  end  of  life.  The  brain  of  a  young 
child  is  in  homogeneity  like  the  brain  of  au  ape ;  the  furrows 
are  shallow,  symmetrical,  and  few  in  number.  AVith  advanc- 
ing years  they  increase  in  number,  depth,  and  irregularity ; 
and  the  increase  is  most  marked  in  those  persons  who  do 
the  most  brain-work.  In  the  brains  of  five  very  eminent 
men  examined  by  "Wagner,  the  heterogeneity  of  surface 
is  described  as  quite  astonishing.  Such  facts  prove  that 
the  operations  of  thought  work  strongly-marked  structural 
changes  in  individual  brains,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years. 
And  as  these  strong]y-marked  changes  are  but  the  summing- 
up  of  countless  little  changes  in  the  arrangements  of  cells 
and  fibres,  the  inference  is  inevitable  that  such  little  changes 
must  be  going  on  all  the  time.  This  is  the  testimony  of 
observation,  and  deduction  might  have  taught  us  to  expect 
as  much;  since  the  molecules  of  nerve-tissue  are  chemically 
by  far  the  most  unstable  molecules  known  to  science,  ever 
ready  to  undergo  metamorphosis  and  arrange  themselves  in 
new  groups.  Waste  and  repair  go  on  more  rapidly  in  the 
brain  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  body ;  the  cerebrum, 
weighing  between  three  and  four  pounds,  receives  at  each 
pulsation  one-fifth  of  all  the  blood  sent  from  the  heart,  and 
if  the  supply  is  stopped  for  an  instant,  consciousness  ceases. 
Where  nutritive  change  is  so  excessively  rapid,  such  structural 
changes  as  are  involved  in  the  continual  setting-up  of  new 
transit^lines,  must  be  readily  effected.  And  quite  in  harmony 
with  this  course  of  inference  is  the  fact  that,  when  cerebra* 


in.  XVI.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND,  141 

nutrition  is  notably  retarded,  as  by  the  anaemia  and  feeble 
circulation  of  disease  or  old  age,  new  associations  of  ideas 
become  difficult  or  even  impossible. 

To  sum  up  this  whole  preliminary  argument: — the 
cerebrum  and  cerebellum  are  organs  whose  function  is 
ideation  or  the  generation  of  ideal  feelings  and  thoughts. 
Tliey  are  organs  made  up  of  a  tissue  in  which  chemical 
changes  occur  with  unparalleled  rapidity.  We  cannot  see 
these  changes  go  on,  but  we  can  equally  well  infer  their 
general  character  when  we  have  examined  the  chemical 
properties  and  molecular  structure  of  the  tissue  in  which 
they  occur.  Microscopic  and  chemical  examination  of  this 
tissue  shows  that  these  chemical  changes  must  consist  in  a 
perpetual  transfer  of  energy  from  one  cell  to  another  along 
transit-lines  composed  of  nerve-threads.  Bear  in  mind  that 
the  cell  does  not  average  more  than  one  ten- thousandth  of 
an  inch  in  diameter,  and  that  the  quantity  of  matter  con- 
tained in  a  transit-line  is  almost  infinitely  small.  Now  since 
the  cerebrum  and  cerebellum  are,  subjectively  speaking, 
places  where  ideation  is  continually  going  on  ;  and  since  they 
are,  objectively  speaking,  places  where  nerve-cells  are  con- 
tinually sending  undulations  back  and  forth  along  transit- 
lines  ;  the  inference  seems  forced  upon  us,  that  the  transfer 
of  an  undulation  from  one  cell  to  another  is  the  objective 
accompaniment  of  each  subjective  unit  of  feeling  of  which 
thoughts  and  emotions  are  made  up.  And  if  this  be  so,  it 
becomes  a  mere  truism  to  say  that  the  formation  of  a  new 
association  involves  the  establishment  of  a  new  transit-line, 
or  set  of  transit-lines,  while  the  revival  of  an  old  association 
involves  merely  the  recurrence  of  motion  along  old  transit- 
lines.  That  this  is  merely  a  hypothesis,  I  readily  grant. 
Nevertheless  it  is  a  verifiable  hypothesis  ;  it  is  in  harmony 
with  all  that  wc  know  of  nerve-action  ;  and  it  may  be  held 
provisionally  until  some  better  one  is  propounded.  When 
we  proceed  to  see  how  many  phenomena  it  explains,  we  shall 


1 42  COSM  W  FHILOSOPH 1.  [pt.  ii. 

be,  I  think,  quite  ready  to  admit  that,  if  it  does  not  contain 
the  whole  truth,  it  must  at  least  contain  a  foreshadowing  of 
the  truth. 

For  we  have  now  to  note  that,  by  a  deduction  from  an 
established  law  of  molecular  motion,  this  hypothetical  law 
of  nervous  action  can  be  shown  to  explain  that  law  of 
association  which  subjective  analysis  proclaims  as  the 
fundamental  law  of  intelligence.  In  the  chapter  on  Life 
and  Mind,  we  saw  that  the  chief  business  of  psychology  is 
to  answer  the  question  how  there  comes  to  be  established  in 
the  mind  a  relation  between  two  subjective  states  X  and  Y, 
answering  to  a  relation  between  two  phenomena  A  and  b  in 
the  environment.  How  is  it  that  there  is  a  subjective  rela- 
tion between  the  idea  of  sweetness  and  the  group  of  ideas 
comprised  in  the  visual  perception  of  a  peach,  answering  in 
some  way  to  the  objective  relation  between  the  coexistent 
properties  of  the  peach,  so  that  tlie  presentation  of  the  one 
to  the  cephalic  ganglia  is  inevitably  accompanied  by  the 
representation  of  the  other  ?  This  question  lies  at  the  bottom 
of  psychology,  and  we  have  now  to  see  how  it  is  to  be 
answered.  The  answer  will  lead  us  through  a  portion  of  the 
domain  of  molecular  physics,  and  will  incidentally  give  us  a 
hint  concerning  the  genesis  of  nervous  systems. 

In  the  chapter  on  Matter,  Motion,  and  Force,  it  was  shown 
that  all  motion  takes  place  along  the  line  of  least  resistance, 
whether  the  motion  be  the  movement  of  a  mass  of  matter 
through  a  resisting  medium,  or  the  passage  of  a  series  of 
undulations  through  the  molecules  of  an  aggregate.  Let  us 
reconsider  this  truth  in  one  of  its  concrete  applications. 

When  a  wave  of  molecular  motion  traverses  a  mass  of 
matter  for  the  first  time,  the  line  of  least  resistance  will  of 
course  be  determined  by  the  intimate  structure  of  the  mass. 
But  now  mark  what  happens.  Immediately  after  the  passage 
of  the  wave,  the  intimate  structure  of  the  mass,  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  line  along  which  the  wave  has  travelled,  is 


PH.  XVI.]  TEE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  143 

different  from  what  it  was  a  moment  ago.  The  passage  of 
the  wave  has  pushed  a  linear  series  of  molecules  out  of 
position,  and  a  short  time  must  elapse  before  these  molecules 
can  return  to  their  positions.  Therefore  if  the  first  wave  is 
instantly  followed  by  a  second,  starting  from  the  same  point, 
the  line  already  traversed  will  be  the  line  of  least  resistance, 
even  more  decidedly  than  before.  The  second  wave  will 
encounter  less  resistance  than  the  first  wave,  because  it  will 
find  its  work  of  altering  the  positions  of  the  molecules 
already  partly  done  for  it.  Thus,  according  to  the  molecular 
mobility  of  the  matter  in  question,  the  transit  of  succeeding 
waves,  along  the  line  once  established,  will  rapidly  become 
less  and  less  hindered.  And  the  process  must  go  on  either 
until  the  inertia  of  the  molecules  along  the  transit-line 
opposes  a  minimum  of  resistance  to  the  passage  of  the  wave, 
or  even  until  the  energy  given  out  by  the  molecules  in 
changing  position  adds  to  the  momentum  of  the  wave.  In 
either  case  there  is  established  a  permanent  line  of  least  re- 
jistance,  along  which  all  subsequent  waves  that  start  from  the 
same  point  must  travel.  The  most  familiar  illustration  of 
this  process  is  afforded  by  the  facts  of  magnetization,  which 
show  "  that  the  establishment  of  undulations  along  certain 
lines  determines  their  continuance  along  those  lines."  ^  The 
case  of  liquid  matter  flowing  through  solid  matter — as  when 
currents  of  rain-water,  percolating  through  loose  soil,  gradually 
break  away  obstructing  particles  and  excavate  small  channels 
which  ultimately  widen  and  deepen  into  river-beds — is  a 
case  ill  which  similar  dynamic  principles  are  involved.  In 
all  these  cases,  "  if  we  confine  our  attention  to  that  part  of  the 
motion  which  escaping  transformation  continues  its  course, 

^  An  illustration  of  this  principle  is  perhaps  to  bo  found  in  the  mellowing 
of  old  violins.  According  to  Prof.  Tyndall,  "  the  very  act  of  playing  has  a 
beneficial  influence ;  apparently  constraining  the  molecules  of  the  wood, 
which  iu  the  first  instance  were  refractory,  to  conform  at  last  to  tie  require- 
ments of  the  vibrating  strings."  O71  Sound,  p.  90.  As  Dr.  JIaudsley  would 
Bay,  "musical  residua"  remain  in  the  molecular  structure  of  the  wood* 


144  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

then  it  is  a  corollary  from  the  persistence  of  force  that  as 
much  of  this  remaining  motion  as  is  taken  up  in  changing 
the  positions  of  the  units,  must  leave  these  by  so  much  less 
able  to  obstruct  subsequent  motion  in  the  same  direction."^ 

Now  in  the  case  of  organic  bodies,  the  enormously  complex 
molecular  changes  involved  in  nutrition  are  such  as  to  aid 
in  the  setting-up  of  the  most  perfect  transit-lines.     In  an 
inorganic   mass    the    molecules    have    comparatively  little 
mobility,   and   they   do   not   leave   their   connections   from 
moment  to  moment,  to  be  instantly  replaced  by  new  molecules. 
But  the  complex  clusters  of  molecules  which  make  up  living 
tissue  possess  immense  mobility,  and  they  are  continually 
falling  to  pieces  and  getting  built  up  again.     Consequently 
the  repeated  passage  of  waves  either  of  fluid  matter  or  of 
molecular  motion  along  a  definite  line  of  least  resistance,  not 
only  changes  the  positions  of  the  molecular  clusters,  but  also 
modifies   the   nutritive   changes   by   which   the    temporary 
equilibrium  of  the  clusters  is  restored.     Instead  of  a  set  oi 
relatively  homogeneous  molecules,  which  are  simply  pushed 
aside  and  then  tend  to  oscillate  back  again,  the  advancing 
wave  encounters  a  heterogeneous  edifice  of  molecules,  which 
tumbles  to  pieces  and  is  instantly  rebuilt.      But  in  the  re- 
building the  force  exerted  by  the  advancing  wave  has  to  be 
expended  ;  and  the  result  is  that  in  the  rebuilt  cluster  there 
is  a  surplus  tension  exerted  in  the  very  direction  in  which 
the  waves  are  travelling.     The  transit-lines  thus  become  far 
more  permeable  than  any  which  can  be  established  in  in- 
organic bodies.     The  energy  given  out  by  the  decomposing 
cluster  of  molecules  adds  to  the  momentum  of  the  wave ;  so 
that  the  line  of  least  resistance  becomes  to  a  certain  extent  a 

^  Spencer,  First  Prv.iciplcs,  p.  248.  Thus,  though  Mr.  Mill  is  justified  in 
inymg  (Inmigural  Discourse,  p.  62)  that  "  physiology  is  the  first  science  in 
vhich  we  [distinctly]  recognize  the  influence  of  habit — the  tendency  of  some- 
ching  to  happen  again  merely  because  it  has  happened  before" — yet,  as  we 
hers  see,  the  phenomena  of  habit  are  foreshadowed  in  the  inorganic  world. 
An  admirable  instance  of  that  continuity  among  phenomena  whicJi  is  tvery. 
where  implied  by  the  theory  of  evolution. 


CH.  XVI.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  145 

line  of  traction.  A  good  illustration  is  afforded  by  the 
f^radual  evolution  of  the  circulatory  system  as  we  ascend  in 
the  animal  scale.  In  the  lowest  animals  which  possess  any 
nutritive  fluid  perceptibly  distinct  from  the  protoplasmic 
jelly  of  which  their  bodies  are  composed,  this  fluid  percolates 
here  and  there  at  seemiufr  random,  its  course  being  determined 
by  local  pressures,  just  as  in  the  case  of  rain-water  trickling 
through  the  ground.  Now  as  we  ascend  to  higher  animals, 
we  find  that  the  nutritive  fluid  has  wrought  for  itself  certain 
channels,  to  which  it  confines  itself,  and  which  gradually 
become  more  and  more  definite  in  direction,  and  more  and 
more  clearly  demarcated  from  the  adjacent  portions  of  tissue. 
Until,  when  we  reach  animals  of  a  high  type  of  structure,  we 
find  the  blood  coursing  through  permanent  channels,  the 
walls  of  which  contract  and  expand  in  such  a  way  as  to 
assist  the  blood  in  its  progress.  A  similar  explanation  is 
to  be  given  of  the  genesis  of  the  contractile  fibres  of  muscle, 
as  due  to  the  continuance  of  molecular  undulations  along 
certain  lines. 

When  we  come  to  the  nervous  system,  we  find  most  com- 
pletely realized  all  the  conditions  requisite  for  the  rapid 
establishment  of  permanent  transit-lines.  The  clusters  of 
molecules  of  which  nerve-tissue  is  composed,  are  more 
heterogeneously  compounded  than  any  other  known  systems 
of  molecules ;  and  the  alternate  pulling  to  pieces  and  put- 
ting together  of  these  clusters,  which  we  call  nutrition,  goes 
on  here  with  unparalleled  rapidity.  Of  all  known  sub- 
stances, nerve  is  the  most  changeable,  the  most  impressible, 
the  most  readily  adaptable  to  changing  combinations  of 
.ncident  forces, — in  short,  the  most  easily  differentiable  and 
integrable.  Hence  we  find  that  those  long  transit-lines, 
known  as  afferent  and  efferent  nerves,  are  not  only  so  con- 
stituted that  a  wave  of  disturbance  set  up  at  one  end  is 
immensely  increased  before  it  reaches  the  other  end,  but  are 
ftlso  protected  by  enveloping  clusters  of  molecules  in  such  a 

VOL.  IL  L 


146  COSMIC  PHILOSOPRY.  [i>t.  u. 

way  that  none  of  the  transmitted  motion  is  allowed  to 
escape  laterally.  Ease  of  transit  is  here  witnessed  at  its 
maximum. 

Making  use  of  these  theorems  of  transcendental  physics, 
and  applying  to  the  problem  his  vast  and  accurate  know- 
ledge of  biological  details,  Mr.  Spencer  has  propounded  a 
theory  of  the  genesis  of  nervous  systems  of  all  orders  of 
complexity,  which,  whether  entirely  or  only  partially  true, 
must  be  regarded  as  one  of  his  most  brilliant  achievements. 
In  the  lately-published  "  Physical  Synthesis,"  which  con- 
cludes the  first  volume  of  his  "  Principles  of  Psychology," 
Mr.  Spencer  shows  that  the  irritability  which  characterizes 
the  entire  surface  of  the  lowest  animals,  and  which  probably 
consists  in  the  isomeric  transformation  of  colloidal  clusters  of 
molecules  distributed  over  the  surface,  must  gradually  be- 
come concentrated  in  certain  definite  transit-lines,  just  as  the 
circulation  of  a  nutritive  fluid  becomes  confined  to  certain 
channels  :  while  the  collision  of  waves  which  takes  place 
wherever  two  or  more  of  these  transit-fibres  inosculate, 
must  result  in  such  chemical  changes,  and  in  the  gradual 
formation  of  such  a  structure,  as  characterize  nerve-centres. 
But  the  exposition,  when  carried  into  details,  is  altogether 
too  abstruse  to  be  profitably  presented  here,  nor  is  it  neces- 
sary for  our  present  purpose.  The  explanation  of  the  laws 
of  association  only  requires  that,  starting  with  some  kind 
of  nervous  system  as  already  established,  we  should  examine 
"he  character  of  the  nutritive  changes  set  up  within  it  by 
environing  agencies. 

The  foregoing  argument  shows  us  that  the  most  prominent 
characteristic  of  such  changes  is  the  formation  of  transit- 
lines  between  neighbouring  cells ;  and  we  have  seen  that 
the  more  frequently  a  wave  of  molecular  disturbance  passes 
along  any  such  transit-line,  the  more  easily  will  it  pass,  and 
the  more  difficult  will  it  be  to  divert  it  into  any  other  transit- 
Una     Hence  in  any  complex  aggregate  of  cells  and  fibres 


BH.  XVI.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  147 

like  the  human  Liain,  we  may  expect  to  find  a  couutless 
number  of  transit-lines,  of  all  degrees  of  permeability. 
Those  which  have  been  oftenest  traversed  will  be  the  most 
permeable,  and  those  which  are  traversed  only  at  rare 
intervals  will  be  but  slightly  permeable ;  while  the  passage 
of  a  nervous  discharge  in  a  new  direction  will  involve  the 
differentiation  of  a  new  line  of  transit. 

Now   subjective   psychology  furnishes  us  with  an  exact 
parallel  to  this  state  of  things.     The  profound  analysis  of 
conscious  changes  carried  on  by  the  English  school  of  psy- 
chology since   the   time   of  Hobbes,  and   accepted   by  the 
Kantian  school  in  all  save  a  few  very  important  instances 
— which  we  shall  presently  see  to  be  similarly  explicable — 
has  ended   in  the  conclusion   that   states  of  consciousness 
cohere  with  a  strength  dependent  upon  the  frequency  with 
which   they  have  been   repeated  in  experience.     In   other 
Avords,  "  the  persistence  of  the  connection  between  states  of 
consciousness  is  proportionate  to  the  persistence  of  the  con- 
nection between  the  agencies  to  which  they  answer.     This 
fundamental  law  of  association  is  illustrated  by  such  familiar 
truths  as  the  following : — "  that  phenomena  wholly  unrelated 
in  our  experience,  we  have  no  tendency  to  think  of  together; 
that  where  a  certain  phenomenon  has  occurred  in  many  rela- 
ions,  we  usually  imagine  it  as  recurring  in  the  relation  in 
which  it  has  most  frequently  occurred ;  that  when  we  have 
witnessed  many  recurrences  of  a  certain  relation  we  come  to 
have  a  strong  belief  in  that  relation;  that  if  a  relation  has 
been   daily    experienced   throughout   life   with   scarcely  an 
exception,  it  becomes  difficult  for  us  to  conceive  it  as  other- 
wise— to  break  the  connection  between  the  states  of  con- 
sciousness representing  it;   and  that  where  a  relation  has 
been  perpetually  repeated  in  our  experience  with  absolute 
uniformity,  we  are   entirely   disabled    from   conceiving  the 
aegation  of  it."  ^ 

*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  voL  i.  p.  421 

L  2 


148  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pi  it. 

The  correspondence  between  the  subjective  and  the  objec- 
tive sides  of  the  phenomena  is  thus  complete,  and  the  in- 
creasing  complication  of  cell  and  fibre  in  the  brain,  from 
infancy  to  old  age,  is  seen  to  have  a  psychological  meaning. 
If  the  acquisition  of  a  new  idea  is  attended  by  the  passage 
of  a  wave  of  molecular  motion  along  a  new  path ;  and  if 
recollection  is  a  state  of  consciousness  attending  the  trans- 
mission of  a  later  wave  along  the  same  path ;  we  have  an 
adequate  physical  interpretation  of  the  fact  that  the  repeti- 
tion of  an  idea  is  favourable  to  the  recollection  of  it.  And 
we  have  also  the  physical  interpretation  of  habit  and  pre- 
judice. Molecular  motions  that  have  been  repeatedly  trans- 
mitted between  particular  groups'  of  nerve-cells,  end  by 
establishing  more  or  less  intricate  webs  of  transit-lines 
which  cannot  be  obliterated.  No  effort  can  prevent  their 
occasional  recurrence  along  these  lines,  or  establish  a  new 
plexus  of  transit-lines,  involving  the  derangement  of  the  old 
ones.  Late  in  life,  when  the  ratio  of  repair  to  waste  is 
greatly  diminished,  when  the  nutrition  of  the  cerebral  tissue 
IS  impaired,  when  the  pulling  to  pieces  and  putting  together 
of  molecular  clusters  in  which  nutrition  consists  goes  on 
slowly,  then  the  formation  of  new  sets  of  transit-lines  be- 
comes especially  difficult ;  and  hence,  as  we  say,  the  shaking 
off  of  old  habits  and  prejudices,  and  the  acquiring  of  new 
and  strange  ideas,  is  next  to  impossible.  It  is  i^roverbially 
hard  to  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks.  We  may  here  also  see 
why  it  is  impossible  to  learn  or  to  carry  on  complicated  think- 
ing when  in  a  state  of  ancemia  :  the  nutritive  changes  go  on 
too  slowly.  Changes  in  memory  further  illustrate  the  theory. 
In  youth,  when  the  excess  of  repair  over  waste  is  at  the 
maximum,  but  few  discharges  through  any  transit-fibre  are 
needful  in  order  to  work  a  permanent  nutritive  change,  set- 
ting up  a  line  of  communication  which  shall  last  through 
life :  hence  learning  is  easy  and  rapid,  and  memory  is  power- 
ful,    In  old  age,  when  waste  is  slightly  in  excess  of  repair, 


CH.  XVI.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  149 

and  "both  are  at  the  minimum,  a  great  many  discharges  are 
necessary  for  the  achievement  of  any  permanent  nutritive 
change :  hence  learning  is  slow  and  difficult,  and  memory  is 
feeble.  And  hence — what  is  most  significant  of  all — the 
old  man  does  not  remember  recent  events,  while  he  re- 
members very  well  what  happened  in  his  youth,  when  his 
rate  of  nutrition  was  rapid.  These  and  countless  similar 
facts  show  us  that  a  state  of  consciousness  and  a  nutritive 
change  in  the  cej)halic  ganglia  are  correlated  like  the  sub- 
jective and  objective  faces  of  the  same  thing.  And  thus  are 
explained  the  many  facts  which  in  the  seventh  chapter  were 
brought  forward  in  illustration  of  the  transformations  of  vital 
energy, — such  as  the  facts  that  consciousness  ceases  the 
instant  the  carbonic  acid  in  the  blood  has  attained  a  certain 
ratio  to  the  oxygen ;  that  much  thinking  entails  a  great  ex- 
cretion of  alkaline  phosphates ;  and  that  prolonged  mental 
exertion  is  followed  by  a  bodily  fatigue  and  a  keen  appetite 
not  essentially  different  from  the  fatigue  and  hunger  which 
follow  muscular  exercise. 

Eegardiiig  it  now  as  provisionally  established  that  an 
association  of  ideas  is  dependent  upon  the  formation  of  a 
transit-line  between  two  nerve-cells,  and  that  the  more  often 
the  fibrous  path  is  traversed  the  more  indissoluble  will  be 
the  association,  let  us  proceed  briefly  to  apply  this  doctrine 
to  the  explanation  of  sundry  psychical  phenomena.  Now  as 
we  begin  to  examine  the  simplest  psychical  phenomena — 
those  of  reflex  action  and  instinct — we  are  met  by  the  seem- 
ing difficulty  that  indissolnbly  connected  psychical  states 
occur  where  the  corresponding  objective  relation  has  never 
been  repeated  within  the  experience  of  the  individual.  In- 
stinctive adjustments  of  inner  to  outer  relations  are  appa- 
veutly  made  without  any  help  from  experience.  Motlis  and 
butterflies  take  to  wing  immediately  on  emerging  from  the 
envelope  of  the  chrysalis ;  "  a  fly-catcher,  immediately  after 
its  exit  irom  the  egg,  has  been  known  lo  peck  at  and  capture 


150  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

an  insect  "  ;  and  "  a  young  pointer  will  point  at  a  covey  the 
first  time  lie  is  taken  afield,"  But  in  such  cases  as  these, 
where  the  cohesion  of  psychical  states  has  not  been  deter- 
mined by  the  experience  of  the  individual,  it  has  nevertheless 
been  determined  by  the  experience  of  the  race.  That  the 
repetition  of  ancestral  experiences  must  end  in  the  automatic 
cohesion  of  psychical  states,  is  both  demonstrable  d  priori 
and  illustrated  by  many  facts.  Birds  living  in  islands  un- 
inhabited by  men  will  not  fly  away  when  approached  by 
travellers,  having  none  of  that  instinctive  fear  which  "  con- 
tinued experience  of  human  enmity  has  wrought"  in  other 
birds.  Yet  in  a  few  generations,  these  birds  will  acquire  the 
same  instinctive  fear.  In  many  cases  the  offspring  of  a  dog 
that  has  been  taught  to  beg  will  beg  instinctively ;  and 
various  peculiarities  of  demeanour,  carefully  impressed  by 
education  upon  sporting  dogs,  are  manifested  without  educa- 
tion by  their  descendants.  Indeed  it  is  familiar  to  breeders 
that  the  dispositions  and  instincts  of  domestic  animals  can 
be  to  a  certain  extent  modified  by  training  and  selection,  no 
less  than  their  physical  constitutions.^ 

The  physical  explanation  of  the  automatic  cohesion  of 
psychical  states  implied  in  hereditary  instinct,  is  not  diffi- 
cult at  this  stage  of  our  inquiry.  When  the  experience  of 
many  past  generations  has  uniformly  contributed  to  establish 
a  certain  arrangement  of  trans  it -lines  in  the  chief  ganglia  of 
the  animal,  there  must  be  a  hereditary  tendency  for  such 

*  "How  strongly  these  don^esKc  instincts,  habits,  and  dispositions  are  in- 
herited, and  how  curiously  they  become  mingled,  is  well  shown  when  different 
breeds  of  dogs  are  crossed,  thus  it  is  known  that  a  cross  with  a  bull-dog 
has  affected  for  many  generations  the  courage  and  obstinacy  of  greyhounds  ; 
and  a  croGS  with  a  greyhound  has  given  to  a  whole  family  of  shepherd-dogs 
a  tendency  to  imnt  hares.  These  domestic  instincts,  when  thus  tested  by 
irossing,  resemble  natural  instincts,  which  in  a  like  manner  become  curiously 
olended  together,  and  for  a  long  period  exhibit  traces  of  the  instincts  of 
either  parent :  for  example  Le  Itoy  describes  a  dog,  whose  great-grandfather 
was  a  wolf,  and  this  dog  showed  a  trace  of  its  wild  parentage  only  in  one 
way,  by  not  coming  in  a  straight  line  to  his  master,  when  called." — Darvdn, 
On^n  of  Species,  6th  edit.,  p.  210. 


irt.  AVI.]  THK    JVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  151 

fcransit-linos  to  devt'op  Ly  the  mere  process  of  nutrition. 
And  where  the  psychical  life  is  very  simple,  and  but  little 
varied  from  generation  to  genorution,  a  nervous  system  era- 
bodying  certain  organized  aptitudes  will  be  transmitted  as 
surely  as  the  muscular  or  vascular  system  is  transmitted 
Nervous  discharges  will  run  along  pre-established  transit- 
lines  as  inevitably  as  in  human  beings  the  nervous  discharges 
which  regulate  the  respiratory  and  alimentary  movements 
run  in  permanent  channels.  The  character  of  the  process  is 
best  exemplified  in  reflex  action,  the  simplest  form  of  psychical 
life.  In  reflex  action,  which  is  unaccompanied  by  conscious- 
ness, a  single  inner  relation  is  adjusted  to  a  single  outer 
relation.  For  the  simpler  kinds  of  reflex  action  nothing  is 
needed  but  what  is  called  a  nervous  arc, — that  is,  an  afferent 
nerve,  a  ganglion,  and  an  efferent  nerve.  When  a  person 
sound  asleep  draws  away  a  limb  that  is  touched,  the  impres- 
sion is  simply  carried  along  an  afferent  nerve  to  one  of  the 
spinal  ganglia,  and  thence  reflected  along  an  efferent  nerve 
to  the  muscle  which  moves  the  limb.  The  assistance  of  the 
brain  is  not  needed.  In  many  animals  the  limbs  thus 
respond  to  stimuli  after  the  head  has  been  cut  off"  or  the 
brain  sliced  away.  This  kind  of  psychical  life,  which  is  but 
one  degree  removed  from  purely  physical  life,  is  all  that  is 
manifested  by  those  lowly-organized  animals  whose  nervous 
systems  consist  of  simple  arcs.  So  thoroughly  physical  is  this 
group  of  phenomena  that  it  may  seem  almost  inappropriate 
to  call  it  psychical :  nevertheless  it  forms  the  transition  from 
the  one  kind  of  life  to  the  other.  It  is  the  lowly  beginning 
from  which  higher  forms  of  psychical  activity  arise. 

Now  in  reflex  action,  as  it  is  exemplified  alike  in  the 
rhythmical  movemsnts  of  our  heart,  lungs,  stomach,  and 
other  viscera,  and  in  the  contraction  of  a  polyp's  tentacle 
when  food  comes  against  it,  we  see  a  series  of  nervous  dis- 
charges which  are  automatically  directed  along  certain  definite 
transit-lines.     The  lines  of  least  resistance  have  become  per- 


15a  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

manently  organized  in  the  animal  structure,  and  tliey  are 
transmitted,  with  the  accompanying  capacities  of  action, 
from  generation  to  generation.  Here  we  see  "  indissohibly 
connected  psychical  states  existing  where  there  are  per- 
petually repeated  experiences  of  the  external  relations  to 
•which  they  answer." 

The  phenomena  of  instinct  are  more  distinctly  psychical 
than  those  of  reflex  action.  "  While  simple  reflex  action  i"? 
common  to  the  internal  visceral  processes  and  to  the  pro- 
cesses of  external  adjustment,  instinct  is  not.  There  are  no 
instincts  displayed  by  the  kidneys,  the  lungs,. the  liver:  they 
occur  only  among  the  actions  of  that  nervo-muscular  appa- 
ratus which  is  the  agent  of  psychical  life."  Instinct,  more- 
over, implies  the  coordination  of  a  large  number  of  stimuli 
with  the  answering  movements,  and  herein  is  its  chief  dif- 
ference from  reflex  action, — a  difference  in  degree  only.  The 
newly-hatched  fly-catcher,  in  seizing  a  fly,  shows  "  en  exact 
appreciation  of  distance,  as  well  as  a  power  of  precisely 
regulating  the  muscular  movements  in  accordance  with  it." 
The  number  of  impressions  and  movements  here  coordinated 
is  so  considerable  that  it  would  take  several  pages  to  describe 
them  thorouglily.  Here  certain  systems  of  transit-lines, 
involved  in  the  establishment  of  a  correspondence  in  space, 
are  wrought  by  nutrition  in  the  animal's  nervous  system,  so 
completely  that  when  the  outer  relation  occurs  the  discharge 
instantly  takes  place  along  the  pre-established  channels,  and 
the  adjustment  is  made.  There  is  an  intricate  compounding 
of  reflex  actions,  involving  the  assistance  of  the  brain  ;  for  if 
the  cerebellum  be  sliced,  the  fly-catching  can  no  longer  be 
perfornfed.  Intricate,  however,  as  the  combination  is,  it  is  a 
special  and  unvarying  one  which  has  been  continually  re- 
peated during  the  whole  lifetime  of  countless  ancestral  fly- 
catchers, so  that  there  is  nothing  strange  in  the  fact  that  it  is 
completely  organized  at  birth.  The  principle  is  the  same  as 
in  the  simpler  phenomena  of  reflex  action.     Here,  as  before 


CH.  XVI.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  1B3 

extending  tlie  experience  theory  to  the  entire  race,  we  see 
"  indissohibly  connected  psychical  states  existing  where  there 
are  perpetually  repeated  experiences  of  the  external  relations 
to  which  they  answer." 

Though  the  higher  kinds  of  instinct,  in  which  the  supreme 
ganglia  cooperate,  are  probably  accompanied  by  a  vague  con- 
sciousness, yet  in  the  main  the  processes  which  we  have  just 
described  must  be  regarded  as  automatic.     Let  us  now  notice 
what  must  occur  when  the  correspondence  between  inner  and 
outer  relations  has  become  quite  complex  and  special.     As 
Mr.    Spencer   has   pointed   out,  "  phenomena    become    less 
frequent    in  proportion  as  they  become  more  complex ;  and 
hence  the  experiences  of  them  can  never  be  so  numerous  as 
are   the   experiences   of  simple  phenomena.      The   relation 
between   a  passing  obscuration  and   a   living  body,  recurs 
oftener  than  the  relation  between  a  certain  degree  of  obscura- 
tion and  danger,  or  than  the  relation  between  a  certain  other 
degree  of  obscuration  and  food.     Again,  each  of  these  rela- 
tions is  more  general  than  the  relation  between  a  particular 
size   and   form  of  visual    impression  and  an   object   of    a 
particular  class.     And  again,  this  relation  is  more  general 
than   that   between  a  particular  size,  form,  and   colour  of 
visual  impression,  and  a  certain  species  of  that  class."  ^  From 
this  it  follows  that  a  lowly-organized  animal,  in  which  there 
is  established  a  correspondence  only  with  the  most  general 
eu>aroning  relations,  and  which  therefore  has  experience  only 
of  such  most  general  relations,  has  at  the  same  time  a  uniform 
experience  which  maintains  a  complete  cohesion  among  its 
simple   psychical  states.      On   the   other   hand,   a    highly- 
organized  animal,  in  which  there  are  established  correspond- 
ences with  many  complex  and  special  relations,  will  have  a 
varied  experience,  and  at  the  same  time  a  varying  cohesion 
among  its  complex  psychical  states.     While  the  most  general 
relations  which  it  experiences  will  also  be  the  most  frequent, 

'  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  i.  p.  441, 


154  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHI.  rt.  ii. 

and  while  sundry  special  relations  (as  in  the  seiziitg  of  its 
prey  by  the  fly-catcher)  will  be  extremely  frequent,  there  are 
many  other  special  relations  of  which  the  experience  will  be 
much  less  frequent.  And  accordingly,  along  with  the  per- 
fectly coherent  psychical  states  generated  by  the  former,  there 
will  be  a  congeries  of  less  coherent  psychical  states  generated 
]by  the  latter.  Or,  to  restate  the  case  in  physiological 
language : — While  in  the  lower  organism  there  will  be  a 
number  of  transit-lines  permanently  established,  and  scarcely 
any  tendency  toward  the  formation  of  new  ones ;  on  the 
other  hand,  in  the  higher  organism,  there  will  be  a  number 
of  permanent  transit-lines  and  a  number  of  such  lines  in 
process  of  formation,  along  with  a  continual  tendency  toward 
the  establishment  of  new  ones.  The  consequences  of  this 
are  obvious.  In  becoming  more  and  more  complex,  the 
correspondences  become  less  and  less  instantaneous  and 
decided.  *'  They  gradually  lose  their  distinctly  automatic 
character,  and  that  which  we  call  Instinct  merges  into  some- 
thing higher." 

For  as  long  as  the  psychical  life  consists  solely  in  the 
passage  of  nervous  undulations  along  permanent  pre-esta- 
blished channels,  there  is  no  consciousness.  Consciousness, 
as  already  shown,  implies  continual  discrimination,  or  the 
continual  recognition  of  likenesses  and  differences ;  and  this 
process  implies  a  rapid  succession  of  changes  in  the  supreme 
ganglia.  Now  this  rapid  succession  of  changes  occurs  when 
a  vast  number  of  relations  are  brought  together  in  a  single 
ganglion,  or  group  of  ganglia,  as  in  the  cerebrum,  in  order  to 
be  compared  with  each  other.  Besides  this,  consciousness 
implies  a  certain  lapse  of  time  during  which  impressions 
persist ;  and  there  is  no  such  persistence  in  reflex  action,  or 
in  the  lower  forms  of  instinct,  where  the  molecular  disturbance 
constituting  a  nervous  impression  is  instantly  drafted  off 
along  the  pre-established  channels.  Such  persistence  occurs 
only  when  a  number  of  impressions  are  brought  together  in 


cii.  XVI.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  Mn\D,  165 

a  single  ganglion,  where  an  appreciable  time  must  elapse 
before  they  are  carried  off  each  along  its  own  set  of  transit- 
lines.  Tor  example,  when  you  tickle  or  pinch  the  arm  of  a 
person  asleep,  the  arm  is  at  first  withdrawn  by  simple  reflex 
action :  the  ordinary  channel,  through  the  afferent  nerve  tc 
the  spinal  centre  and  back  again  through  the  efferent  nerve  tc 
the  limb,  suffices  to  carry  off  all  the  molecular  disturbance, 
— and  there  is  no  consciousness  of  the  irritation  or  of  the 
resulting  contraction.  But  if  the  pinching  be  frequently 
repeated,  so  that  the  disturbance  is  generated  faster  than  it 
can  be  thus  drafted  off,  the  surplus  is  sent  up  through  a 
centripetal  fibre  from  the  spinal  ganglion  to  the  brain ;  and 
some  dreaming  ensues,  or  perhaps  a  fretful  sound  is  emitted. 
If  the  impression  be  kept  up  long  enough,  there  is  full  con- 
sciousness of  it,  and  the  person  awakes.  Now  the  rise  of 
consciousness  implied  in  the  dreaming  and  waking  is  due  to 
the  persistence  in  the  cerebrum  of  a  molecular  disturbance 
which  is  not  at  once  drafted  off  through  the  proper  centrifugal 
fibres. 

Obviously,  therefore,  when  the  number  of  impressions  sent 
in  to  the  brain  from  moment  to  moment  exceeds  the  number 
of  thoroughly  permeable  channels  which  have  been  formed 
there,  so  that  there  is  a  brief  period  of  tension  during  which 
occur  the  nutritive  changes  implied  in  the  transmission  of  the 
disturbance  through  the  appropriate  channels,  then  there 
arise  the  phenomena  of  conscious  intelligence.  For  mark 
what  must  happen.  In  the  Jirst  place,  the  persistence  of 
the  impressions  enables  them  to  be  consciously  felt,  either 
pleasurably  or  painfully  ;  so  that  there  is  the  germ  of  Emo- 
tion. Secondly,  the  disturbance  tends  to  propagate  itself 
along  various  permeable  transit-lines,  so  that  there  is  a 
revived  association  of  ideas,  or  what  we  call  Memory. 
Thirdly,  there  is  an  integration  of  the  present  impressions 
with  such  past  ones  as  they  resemble,  and  a  differentiation  of 
them  from  such  past  ones  as  they  do  not  resemble  ;  and  tliia 


156  COSMIC  PEILOSOPHT.  [ft.  a 

comparison  of  present  with  past  impressions,  dependent  on 
memory,  implies  classification,  and  is  the  germ  of  what  we 
call  Perception  and  Eeasoning.  Fourthly,  there  is,  in  the  case 
of  many  kinds  of  impressions,  a  period  of  tension  during 
which  it  becomes  determined  along  what  set  of  centrifugal 
fibres  the  surplus  disturbance  shall  be  drafted  off,  and  here 
we  have  the  primitive  form  of  Volition.  Thus  the  various 
phases  of  conscious  psychical  life — which  we  call  emotion, 
memory,  reason,  and  volition — arise  as  soon  as  there  begins 
to  elapse  an  appreciable  time  between  the  accumulation  of 
molecular  disturbance  in  a  group  of  cephalic  nerve-cells,  and 
its  discharge  along  the  proper  transit- fibres.  And  this  state  of 
things,  which  is  not  possible  in  simple  nervous  systems  which 
only  respond  instinctively  or  by  reflex  action  to  a  few  general 
relations  in  the  environment,  becomes  possible  in  those  com- 
pound nervous  systems  which  respond  to  a  great  number  of 
infrequent  and  special  relations.  For  the  establishment  of 
inner  relations,  answering  to  these  infrequent  and  special 
outer  relations,  involves  a  lapse  of  time  during  which  numer- 
ous diverse  impressions  are  getting  distributed  through  various 
transit-lines  hitherto  little  used.  When,  as  in  the  fully- 
developed  human  cerebrum,  a  vast  number  of  infrequent  and 
special  relations  are  continually  set  up,  there  is  a  maximum 
of  nutritive  change,  there  is  a  maximum  of  time  duripg 
which  impressions  simultaneously  coming  in  may  be  com- 
pared and  classified,  and  there  is  a  maximum  of  con- 
Bciousness. 

This  exj^lanation  of  the  v/ay  in  which  the  various  phases 
of  conscious  psychical  life  arise,  is  fully  confirmed  by  the 
way  in  which  they  disappear  when  actions  at  first  con- 
yciously  performed  become  instinctive.  The  confirmation 
is  so  complete  as  to  afford  a  very  strong  proof  of  the  truth 
of  the  hypothesis.  Many  of  the  actions  performed  by 
civilized  man  are  designated  by  psychologists  as  **  second- 
arily automatic."     That  is,  they  are  at  first  performed  with 


IH.  xri.l  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  157 

the  assistance  of  reason,  volition,  and  conscious  memory, 
and  they  are  attended  by  feelings  of  pleasure  or  pain.  But 
after  a  while  they  are  performed  without  the  aid  of  reason, 
volition,  or  conscious  memory,  and  they  are  not  attended 
by  pleasurable  or  painful  feelings.  In  becoming  instinc- 
tive, they  lapse  partially  or  entirely  from  consciousness. 
The  child  in  learning  to  walk  and  talk,  must  will  each 
movement  and  rationally  coordinate  it  with  other  move- 
ments in  order  to  attain  the  desired  end.  But  the  man, 
in  walking  and  talking,  is  unconscious  of  the  separate  move- 
ments, and  volition  serves  only  to  set  them  going.  Tn  learn- 
ing to  read,  the  child  must  consciously  remember  each  letter, 
combine  it  with  others  into  a  word,  and  associate  the  word 
with  the  thing  signified ;  and  this  last  process  is  repeated  in 
later  years  when  we  learn  foreign  languages.  But  in  reading 
our  own  language,  or  a  foreign  one  which  has  been  thoroughly 
learned,  the  association  of  words  and  things  is  automatic. 
In  reading  an  English  book,  in  which  French  quotations  are 
inserted,  one  frequently  passes  from  one  language  to  the 
other  and  back  again,  without  noticing  the  change,  if  the 
attention  be  concentrated  on  the  subject-matter.  In  learn- 
ing to  play  the  piano,  there  is  at  first  a  vast  amount  of  con- 
scious association  between  the  written  notes,  the  key-board, 
and  the  muscular  adjustments  of  the  fingers,  wrists,  and 
arms;  but  an  accomplished  pianist  will  play  a  familiar 
piece  while  his  attention  is  directed  to  other  matters. 
The  case  is  similar  with  writing,  and  indeed  with  all 
habitual  actions  which  require  nervo-muscular  coordination. 
In  many  cases,  moreover,  the  intervention  of  conscious 
attention  only  impairs  the  accuracy  of  adjustment.  In 
billiard-playing  and  rifle-shooting,  the  aim  is  usually  im- 
paired if  we  stop  to  think  about  it ;  and  on  the  piano  it 
is  almost  impossible  to  play  triple  notes  with  one  hand 
and  double  notes  with  the  other  if  we  attempt  to  measurfl 
out  the  time. 


158  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii 

Purely  intellectual  acts  also  become  to  a  certain  extent 
automatic  with  practice,  as  was  indeed  implied  in  some  of 
the  foregoing  illustrations,  Not  only  the  combination  of 
words  into  a  sentence,  but  the  combination  of  sentences  into 
a  proposition,  and  the  combination  of  propositions  into  a 
theory,  is  effected  more  and  more  rapidly,  until  the  pro- 
cess hardly  attracts  attention.  In  a  complicated  exposition 
like  the  present,  numerous  scientific  theorems,  at  first 
laboriously  comprehended  one  by  one,  are  wrapped  up  to- 
gether and  thrown  into  some  subordinate  clause  of  a  sen- 
tence, the  total  being  so  obvious  as  not  to  withdraw  the 
attention  from  the  main  current  of  thought  while  writing. 
In  such  facts  we  have  a  partial  explanation  of  many  of 
the  phenomena  of  what  is  called  unconscious  or  "  sub-con- 
scious "  thinking.  And  thus,  too,  are  to  be  explained  those 
sudden  flashes  of  insight,  scientific  or  poetical,  which  in 
early  times  were  attributed  to  inspiration  or  dictation  from 
without.  Obviously  without  a  good  deal  of  such  automatic 
acting  and  thinking,  we  could  achieve  but  little  in  art  or 
science.  We  should  never  become  good  pianists  if  we  had 
to  keep  paying  attention  to  all  the  requisite  muscular  ad- 
justments ;  and  science  would  advance  but  slowly  if  at 
each  step  of  an  intricate  inquiry  in  dynamics  it  were  neces- 
sary to  stop  and  reflect  upon  the  elementary  laws  of  matter 
and  motion. 

The  ph3'-sical  interpretation  of  these  secondary  automatic 
processes  is  not  difficult,  according  to  the  hypothesis  here 
expounded.  During  the  process  of  learning,  there  is  an 
extensive  formation  of  new  transit-lines,  and  consequently 
an  appreciable  interval  between  the  accumulation  of  mole- 
cular disturbance  in  the  cerebral  ceUs  and  its  discharge. 
Impressions  persist  long  enough  to  be  compared  together, 
and  accordingly  there  is  reason  and  there  is  volition.  There 
is  a  maximum  of  consciousness,  because  there  is  a  maximum 
duration  of  the  nutritive  changes,  and  hence  weariness  soon 


m.  XVI.]  TH£  JS VOLUTION  OF  MIND.  159 

follows ;  cerebral  nutrition  entailing  greater  waste  than 
occurs  in  any  other  part  of  the  system.  But  with  constant 
repetition  the  resistance  to  the  passage  of  uudulatious  along 
the  new  transit-lines  disappears  entirely.  Nutrition  has  so 
modified  them  that,  as  above  explained,  they  become  lines 
of  traction  instead  of  lines  of  resistauce.  As  "we  say, 
nothing  can  prevent  the  one  group  of  ideas  or  movements 
from  following  the  other.  The  discharges  are  made  instantly, 
and  along  with  a  minimum  duration  of  nutritive  change 
there  is  a  minimum  of  consciousness.  The  combinations 
become  permanently  organized  in  the  brain-structure,  and 
in  becoming  permanently  organized  they  become  instinctive 
or  automatic. 

We  may  now  also  begin  to  understand  why  it  is  that  in 
man  the  organization  of  instincts,  primary  and  secondary,  is 
continued  through  the  early  years  of  life,  while  in  the  other 
animals  the  majority  of  the  instincts  are  already  organized 
at  birth.  The  distinction  is  not  an  absolute  one,  as  many  of 
the  higher  vertebrates,  both  birds  and  mammals,  and  in  a 
marked  degree  the  anthropoid  apes,  cannot  take  care  of 
themselves  immediately  after  birth,  though  they  soon  become 
able  to  do  so.  The  low^er  we  descend  the  animal  scale,  the 
more  completely  organized  is  the  psychical  life  of  the  newly- 
born  organism.  The  reason  is  obviously  to  be  found  in  the 
greater  speciality  and  complexity,  and  the  consequent  rela- 
tive infrequency,  of  the  coordinations  made  by  the  highest 
animals,  and  especially  by  man.  When,  for  example,  we 
put  forth  the  hand  to  grasp  an  object,  the  muscular  adjust- 
ments are  as  instinctive  as  those  of  the  fly-catcher  pouncing 
on  an  insect ;  "  volition  being  concerned  merely  in  setting 
the  process  going."  But  with  us,  the  impressions  which  we 
receive  and  the  motions  which  we  make  are  endlessly  varied, 
and  the  complex  combinations  of  them  occur  severally  with 
less  frequency  than  is  the  case  with  the  simpler  combina- 
tions formed  by  lower  animals.     They  are  accordingly  not 


160  COSMIC  PEILOSOPHT,  [pt.  ii 

coordinated  "before  birth,  thougli  they  are  easily  coordinated 
during  childhood,* 

A  great  number  of  psychical  phenomena  are  thus  satisfac- 
torily explained  by  the  hypothesis.  But  one  further  service, 
and  a  most  signal  one,  is  rendered  by  it ;  and  this  we  must 
briefly  indicate,  in  accordance  with  previous  promises,  before 
leaving  the  subject.  The  view  of  cerebral  action  here 
adopted  settles  the  long-vexed  question  between  the  Lockian 
and  Kantian  schools  as  to  the  sources  of  knowledge;  and 
the  verdict,  while  partly  favourable  to  each  of  these  schools, 
is  not  wholly  favourable  to  either.  Let  us  reconsider  the 
portion  of  our  hypothesis  which  bears  upon  this  question. 

It  follows  from  the  general  principles  involved  in  the 
foregoing  exposition,  that  the  peculiar  intellectual  activity 
of  any  parent,  by  modifying  the  nutrition  of  his  cerebral 
tissue,  must  impress  itself  upon  the  unstimulated  and  half- 
developed  brain  of  his  infant  offspring.  Eliminating  the 
effects  wrought  in  it  by  countless  environing  circumstances, 
we  may  say  that  the  infant  brain  just  as  surely  tends  to 
develop  transit-lines  similar  to  those  in  the  parental  brain, 
as  the  infant  face  tends  to  develop  muscular  peculiarities  of 
expression  like  those  characteristic  of  the  parental  face. 
And  while  the  tendency  is  so  slight  as  to  count  for  little 
or  nothing  in  the  case  of  the  more  complex  and  infrequent 
associations  of  ideas,  it  must  be  a  resistless  tendency  in  the 
case  of  those  nerve-connections  which  answer  to  associa- 
tions involved  in  every  act  of  experience, — as,  for  example, 
those  concerned  in  building  up  our  conceptions  of  space, 
time,  force,  and  causation.  A  concise  restatement  of  the 
case  will  now  lead  us  at  once  to  our  conclusion.  AVhilo 
ancestral  experience  impresses  upon  the  brain  a  nutritive 

1  In  the  concluding  chapter  of  this  Part,  I  shall  endeavour  to  show  that 
this  origination  and  prolongation  of  the  period  of  infancy,  which  is  the  effect 
»i  increasing  intelligence,  is  in  turn  the  proximate  cause  of  the  genesis  o( 
■ocial  relations  and  of  ethical  feelings,  and  thus,  indirectly,  of  tho  entir* 
InteUectual  aad  moral  supremacy  of  man. 


CH.  XVI.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  161 

tendency  toward   the   formation   of   certain   special   nerve- 
connectious,  individual  experience  tends  now  to  assist  and 
now  to  clieck  the  inherited  tendency.     And  so  the  number 
and  direction  of   transit-lines  in  any  brain  is  due  to  the 
cooperation   of  innumerable   ancestral   and    individual   ex- 
periences.    Locke  was  therefore  wrong  in  calling  the  infant's 
mind  a  blank  sheet  upon  which  experience  is  to  write  know- 
ledge.    The  mind  of  the   infant  cannot  be  compared  to  a 
blank  sheet,  but  rather  to  a  sheet  already  written  over  here 
and  there  with  invisible  ink,  which  tends  to  show  itself  as 
the  chemistry  of  experience  supplies  the  requisite  conditions. 
Or,  dropping  metaphor,  the  infant's  mind  is  correlated  with 
the   functions   of    a   complex   mass   of  nerve-tissue    which 
already   has  certain  definite  nutritive  tendencies.     On  the 
other  hand,  the  school  of  Leibnitz  and  Kant  was  wrong  in 
assuming  a  kind  of  intuitional   knowledge  not    ultimately 
due  to  experience.     For  the  ideas  formerly  called  innate  or 
intuitional  are   the  results  of  nutritive   tendencies  in   the 
cerebral  tissue,  which  have  been  strengthened  by  the  uni- 
form  experience  of  countless  generations,  until   they  have 
become  as  resistless  as  the  tendency  of   the  dorsal  line  of 
the    embryo  to    develope   into   a  vertebral   column.      The 
strength  of  Locke's  position  lay  in  the  assertion  that   all 
knowledge  is  ultimately  derived  from  experience, — that  is, 
from  the  intercourse  between  the  organism  and  the  environ- 
ment.    The  strength  of  Kant's  position  lay  in  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  fact  that  the  brain  has  definite  tendencies,  even 
it  birth.     The  Doctrine  of  Evolution  harmonizes  these  two 
seemingly-opposite  views,  by  showing  us  that  in  learning  we 
lie  merely  acquiring  latent  capacities  of  reproducing  ideas ; 
vind  that  beneath  these  capacities  lie  more  or  less  powerful 
aucritive  ':endencies,  which  are  transmissible  from  parent  to 
child. 

I  belie  v^e  that  the  last  difficulties  which  may  have  hovered 
about  the  doctrine  of  the  Test  of  Truth,  expounded  iu  the 

VOL.  IL  M 


1162  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

fcliircl  chapter  of  our  Prolegomena,  are  now  swept  away.  It 
must  be  by  this  time  quite  clear  that  the  inconceivability- 
test  and  the  experience-test  are  merely  the  obverse  faces  of 
the  same  thing.  An  association  of  subject  and  predicate, 
which  answers  to  an  objective  relation  of  which  the  ex- 
perience has  been  absolutely  uniform,  must  be  absolutely 
indissoluble  ;  and  vice  versa.  The  ultimate  question  at  issue 
between  Mr.  Mill  and  Mr.  Spencer  thus  becomes  reduced  to 
a  question  of  terminology,  save  in  one  important  particular, 
in  which  I  have  already  shown  that  Mr.  Mill  is  not  only 
demonstrably  wrong,  but  also  inconsistent  with  himself. 
The  foregoing  exposition  adds  new  weight  to  the  argument 
by  which  it  was  formerly  (Part  I.,  Chap,  iii.)  proved  that 
when  Mr.  Mill  asserts  that  the  negation  of  such  an  axiom 
as  the  indestructibility  of  matter,  which  is  now  inconceivable, 
was  in  past  times  conceivable,  he  virtually  asserts  that  there 
was  a  time  when  men  could  frame  inner  relations  of  which 
the  corresponding  outer  relations  had  never  been  presented 
in  experience.  And  thus  he  not  only  runs  counter  to  the 
general  theory  of  Life  as  Adjustment  which  is  here  adopted, 
but  he  contravenes  his  own  favourite  doctrine  of  the  ex- 
periential origin  of  all  knowledge,  which  is  in  reality  part 
and  parcel  of  tliat  general  theory  of  life. 

With  these  corollaries  I  must  conclude  this  too  brief 
account  of  the  process  of  psychical  evolution.  In  the  present 
chapter  and  its  two  predecessors,  while  steadily  refraining 
irom  the  chivnerical  attempt  to  identify  Mind  with  some 
form  of  Matter  or  Motion,  it  has  nevertheless  been  shown 
that,  owing  to  the  mysterious  but  unquestionable  correlation 
which  exists  between  the  phenomena  of  Mind  and  tlie 
phenomena  of  Matter  and  Motion,  it  is  possible  to  describe, 
the  evolution  of  the  former  by  the  same  formula  which 
describes  the  evolution  of  the  latter.  By  a  continuous  dif- 
ferential compounding  of  impressions,  we  pass,  through 
"nfinitesimal  stages,  from  the  relatively  homogeneous  and 
bimple  set  of  correspondences  known  as  reflex  action,  mani-i 


CH.  XVI.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MIND.  163 

fested  alike  by  the  highest  and  the  lowest  animals,  to  those 
exceediiiyly  complex  and  heterogeneous  sets  of  correspond- 
ences known  as  reason  and  volition,  which  are  manifested 
only  by  the  highest  animals,  and  in  their  greatest  complexity 
by  man  alone.     Throughout  this  wonderful  process  we  have 
seen   how    closely   the   evolution  of    psychical   function   is 
correlated  with  the  evolution  of  nerve  structure.     But,  great 
as  has  been  our  gain  during  the  foregoing  exposition,  our 
theory  of  psychical  evolution  is  as  yet  by  no  means  com- 
plete.    Concerning  the  relations  of  Mind  to  Life,  and  con- 
cerning the  Composition  and  Evolution  of  Mind  in  general, 
we   have   obtained   many   valuable   results.       But   nothing 
has  as  yet  been  said  concerning  the  especial  mode  of  genesis 
of    those   highest    manifestations    of    thought    and   feeling 
which  distinguish   civilized  man.     This   problem   must  be 
duly  treated  before  our  account  of  psychical  evolution  can  be 
regarded  as  complete  even  in  outline.    Upon  questions  of  this 
sort,   however,   we   are   not  yet  prepared  to   enter.     Those 
highest  manifestations  of   thought   and   feeling  which   dis- 
tinguish civilized  man  from  inferior  mammals,  and  in  a  less- 
marked  degree  from  uncivilized '  man,  are  the  products  of 
countless  ages  of  social  evolution;  and  before  we  can  hope 
to  understand  their  mode  of  genesis,  we  must  see  what  are 
the   teachings    of  history   and    psychology   concerning   the 
character  of  social  evolution  in  general.     Having  shown  how, 
starting  from  a  relatively  low  degree  of  sociality,  a  relatively 
nigh  degree  is  attained  in  conformity  to  the  general  theory  of 
Life  as  Adjustment,  we  shall  be  better  enabled  to  comprehend 
the  genesis  of  that  lowest  degree  of  sociality,  the  attainment 
of  which  was  the  decisive  step  which  first  raised  Man  above 
the  level  of  the  Brutes.     The  four  following  chapters  will 
therefore  be  concerned  with  Sociology;  and  the  first  will  be 
devoted  to  clearing  away  a  complicated  misunderstanding,  by 
the  help  of  which   metaphysicians  have   long   sought,  and 
Btill  seek,  to  deter  us  from  applying  scientific  methods  of 
interpretation  to  the  phenomena  of  human  history. 

M  2 


CHAPTER  XVIt 

SOCIOLOGY  AND    FRFE-WILL. 

That  the  phenomena  manifested  by  human  beings,  as  grouped 
in  societies,  conform  to  fixed  and  ascertainable  laws,  is  a  pro- 
position which  has  thus  far  been  taken  for  granted,  inasmuch 
as  it  is  logically  inseparable  from  the  other  sets  of  proposi- 
tions which  go  to  make  up  our  Cosmic  Philosophy.  Not  only, 
moreover,  have  we  thus  tacitly  assumed  that  social  phenomena 
conform  to  law  and  may  be  made  the  subject  of  science,  but 
in  the  fourth  chapter  of  this'  Synthesis  it  was  expressly  stated 
that  the  fundamental  law  to  which  they  conform  is  the  Law 
of  Evolution,  which  has  now  been  proved  to  hold  sway  among 
inorganic  and  organic  phenomena,  as  well  as  among  those 
super-organic  phenomena  which  we  distinguish  as  psychical. 
Under  ordinary  circumstances  we  might  fairly  go  on   and 
justify  our  tacit  assumption  and  our  explicit  assertion,  by 
showing,  both  deductively  and  inductively,  that  the  evolution 
cf  society  follows  in  general  the  same  method  as  the  evolu- 
tion of  organic  life.     In  the  following  chapter  I  shall  proceed 
to  do  this.     I  shall  show,  first,  that  social  evolution  consists 
in  the  integration  of  human  families  or  tribal  communities  into 
larger  and  larger  groups,  which  become  ever  more  heterogene- 
ous and  more  interdependent ;  and  secondly,  that  what  we  call 
civilization  consists  in  the  ever  increasing  defiuiteness  and 
complexity  of  the  correspondence  between  the  communitj; 


CH.  xviT.j         sonioLoar  and  free-will.  165 

and  the  environment.  Tliirdly,  I  shall  carry  on  the  inquiry 
to  a  point  somewhat  in  advance  of  ^Mr.  Spencer's  exposition, 
as  it  now  stands,  and  show  how  these  truths  must  be  supple- 
mented in  order  to  give  us  a  law  of  social  evolution  which 
shall  cover  social  phenomena  simply,  excluding  the  more 
^•eneral  phenomena  of  organic  life. 

But  while  under  ordinary  circumstances  it  might  be  well 
enough  to  proceed  directly  to  such  an  invesligauon,  since 
there  is  no  better  way  of  proving  that  certain  groups  of 
phenomena  conform  to  law  than  by  pointing  out  the  law  to 
which  they  conform,  nevertheless  in  the  present  case  I  think 
it  desirable  to  preface  the  inquiry  with  a  brief  discussion  of 
one  or  two  logical  and  psychological  truths — truths  of  method 
and  of  doctrine — which  lie  at  the  basis  of  sociology.  In  our 
survey  of  the  simpler  sciences,  no  such  preface  was  called  for. 
In  beginning  to  treat  of  biological  truths,  we  did  not  deem  it 
necessary  to  prove  that  waste  and  repair  proceed  according  to 
immutable  laws,  or  to  forestall  possible  cavils  by  declaring 
that,  although  we  cannot  predict  our  states  of  health  from 
week  to  week,  nevertheless  organic  phenomena  are  not  the 
sport  of  chance.  It  is  otherwise  in  sociology,  which  is  a  new 
science,  encumbered  with  many  popular  misconceptions,  and 
regarded  with  an  evil  eye  by  theologians, — persons  who 
profess  great  devotion  to  the  interests  of  advancing  knowledge 
in  general,  while  the  particular  advance  in  knowledge  at  any 
time  going  on  somehow  never  happens  to  be  the  one  which 
they  think  fit  to  regard  with  favour.  Of  each  new  trophy 
which  Science  has  from  time  to  time  laboriously  won,  these 
opponents  have  hastened  to  declare,  "  Behold  it  is  the  last !  ** 
Though  the  phenomena  presented  by  the  heavenly  bodies,  by 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  by  the  life  which  covers  the 
earth,  have  one  after  another,  in  spite  of  vehement  theological 
protest,  been  made  the  subjects  of  science,^  it  is  still  stoutly 

^  "Als  P3'thagoras  seinen  beruhmten  Lehrsatz  entdeckte,  opferte  er  den 
Gottern  eine  Hekatombe,  d.  la.  eia  Opfer  von  huudert  Stiereu.      SeitJeui 


166  COSMIO  PHILOSOPHY.  5.PT.  il 

maintained  that  the  results  of  human  volitions  can   nevei 
become  amenable  to  scientific  treatment.     Here,  it  is  cried 
on  the  threshold  of  sociology  we  must  take  our  final  stand, 
and  insist,  in  the  interests  of  religion  and  morality,  that 
although  all  other  events  may  occur  in  regular  sequence, 
nevertheless  in  human  affairs  there  is  no  such   sequence. 
The  arguments  by  which  it  is  sought  to  establish  this  desperate 
proposition,  are  based  partly  on  those  facts  which  are  assumed 
to   prove  the   freedom   of   the   will,  partly  on  the  endless 
diversity  and  complexity  of  human  affairs.     Concerning  this 
latter  class  of  considerations,  I  may  say  here  that  they  are  at 
once  irrelevant  and  inconclusive.     Irrelevant,  since  even  if  it 
were  to  be  granted — which  it  is  not — that  the  extreme  intri- 
cacy of  social  phenomena  may  prevent  our  discerning  the 
order  of  their  sequence,  this  would  prove,  not  that  there  is  no 
sequence,  but  that  our  vision  is  limited.  Inconclusive,  because 
from  the  nature  of  the  case,  other  things  being  equal,  com- 
plex phenomena  cannot  be  generalized   until   the  simpler 
phenomena  which  they  involve  have  been  mentally  reduced 
to  orderly  succession.     As  we  shall  again  haA^e  occasion  to 
notice,  the  laws  of  social  life  could  not  be  discovered  until 
the  sciences  of  biology  and  psychology  had  gone  far  toward 
formulating  the  laws  of  physical  and  psychical  life  in  general. 
But  the  misconceptions  which  cluster  about  this  subject  are 
so  numerous  that  they  may  best  be  eliminated  by  a  somewhat 
detailed  controversy.     Let  us   examine  the  argument  from 
complexity,  as  presented  by  Mr.  Froude ;  and  afterwards  the 
argument  from  the  assumed  lawlessness  of  volition,  as  pre- 
sented by  Mr.  Goldwin  Smith. 

Mr.  Froude  begins  ^  by  dogmatically  denying  that  there 
is  or  can  be  such  a  thing  as  a  science  of  history.  There  is 
something  incongruous,  he  says,  in  the  very  connection  of 

bnillen  alle  Ochsen,  so  oft  eine  neue  Walirheit  entdeckt  ^\'ird."— Biichner, 
Die  Darwiv'scJie  Theorie,  p.  288. 
*  Hhort  Studies  on  Great  Subjects,  voL  L 


IIH.XVI1.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FBEE- WILL.  167 

the  two  words.  "It  is  as  if  we  were  to  talk  of  the  colour  of 
sound,  or  the  longitude  of  the  rule-of-three."  But  he  carries 
on  the  thought  in  a  way  that  sliows  plainly  his  reluctance  to 
grapple  fairly  with  the  problem.  In  his  next  sentence  he 
says,  "  where  it  is  so  difficult  to  make  out  the  truth  on  the 
commonest  disputed  facts  in  matters  passing  under  our  very 
eyes,  how  can  we  talk  of  a  science  in  things  long  past,  which 
come  to  us  only  through  books  ?  "  Now  to  reason  like  this, 
is  merely  to  shrink  from  the  encounter.  For  the  question  is, 
not  whether  the  science  is  difficult,  but  whether  it  is  possible. 
Mr.  Froude  sets  out  to  show  that  there  can  be  no  such  science, 
and  his  first  bit  of  proof  is  that,  if  there  is  such  a  science,  it 
must  be  far  more  difficult  than  any  other  ;  a  position  which 
we  may  contentedly  grant.  Let  us  follow  him  a  step  farther. 
"  It  often  seems  to  me  as  if  history  were  like  a  child's  box 
of  letters,  with  which  we  can  spell  any  word  we  please.  We 
have  only  to  pick  out  such  letters  as  we  want,  arrange  them 
as  we  like,  and  say  nothing  about  those  which  do  not  suit 
our  purpose."  And  what  does  all  this  amount  to  ?  Is  this 
Mr.  Froude's  idea  of  historical  investigation  ?  Why,  the 
same  thing  may  be  done  in  any  science.  We  have  only  to 
pick  out  all  the  facts  on  one  side,  and  blink  aU  the  facts 
on  the  other  side  to  prove  the  veracity  of  every  oracle, 
soothsayer,  and  clairvoyant  that  ever  existed,  the  validity 
of  every  paltry  omen,  the  credibility  of  every  crazy  notion 
of  alchemy  or  judicial  astrology.  In  this  way  we  may 
prove  that  the  homoeopathist  always  saves  his  patient,  while 
the  allopathist  always  kills  him  ;  or  vice  versa.  And  it  was 
in  this  way  that  the  phrenologists  erected  their  pseudo- 
science.  By  following  this  method,  also,  it  becomes  easy  to 
prove  that  Henry  VIII.  was  an  exemplary  husband.  It  is  in 
this  way  that  every  incorrect  or  inadequate  hypothesis  in 
physical  science  or  in  history  has  arisen  and  gained  temporary 
recognition.  Supposing  Tycho  Brahe  had  said  to  his  Coper- 
nican  antagonists,  "  Astronomy  is  like  a  child's  box  of  letters ; 


168  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

if  we  tate  out  what  we  want  and  let  the  rest  go,  we  can 
spell  whatever  we  please ;  I  spell  out  the  Ptolemaic  hypo- 
thesis, and  will  therefore  abide  by  it ; " — he  would  have  been 
talking  much  after  the  manner  of  Mr.  Froude.     It  is  true,  as 
Mr.  Froude  further  says,  that  one  philosopher  believes  in 
progress,  a  second  in  retrogression,  and  a  third,  like  Vico, 
in  ever-recurring  cycles.     But  is  this  because  the  facts  are 
undecipherable,  or  because  the  investigation  is  one-sided  ? 
Because  Agassiz  still  believes  organic  species  to  be  fixed, 
while  almost  all  other  naturalists  believe  them  to  be  variable 
in  character,  are  we  to  infer  that  there  is  no  science  of  biology  ? 
In  such  unworthy  plight  does  Mr.  Froude  retreat  before  the 
problem  he  has  encountered.     He  starts  to  show  us  that  a 
science  of  history  is  as  ridiculous  an  impossibility  as  a  scarlet 
B-flat  or  a  westerly  proportion  ;  and  he  ends  by  mildly  observ- 
ing that  history  is  a  difficult  subject,  in  which  a  series  of  par- 
tial examinations  may  bring  forth  contradictory  conclusions ! 
The    next  bit   of  inference  concerns  us  more  intimately. 
"  Will  a  time  ever  be  when  the  lost  secret  of  the  foundation 
of  Eome  can  be  recovered  by  historic  laws  ?     If  not,  where 
is  our  science  ?  "     Just  where  it  was  before.     The  science  of 
history  has  nothing  to  do  with  dates,  except  to  take  them,  so 
far  as  they  can  be  determined,  from  the  hands  of  historical 
criticism.     They  are  its  data,  not  its  conclusions.     As  Mr. 
Morley  reminds  us,  we  do  not  dispute  the  possibility  of  a 
science  of  meteorology,  because  such  a  science  cannot  tell 
us  whether  it  was  a  dry  or  a  wet  day  at  Jericho  two  thousand 
years  ago.    Facts  like  these  show  us  that  sciences  dealing  with 
phenomena  which  are  the  products  of  many  and  complex 
factors,  cannot  hope  to  attain  that  minute  precision  which  is 
attained  by  sciences  dealing  with  phenomena  which  are  the 
products  of  few  and  simple  factors.   They  show  that  sociology 
cannot,  like  astronomy,  be  brought  under  the  control  of  mathe- 
matical deduction.     But  it  was  not  necessary  for  Mr.  Froude 
to  write  an  essay  to  prove  this. 


CH.  XVII.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FREE-WILL.  169 

But,  continues  Mr.  Froude,  "can  ycu  imagine  a  science 
wliich  would  have  foretold  sucli  movements   as "   Moham- 
medanism, or  Christianity,  or  Buddhism  ?     To  the  question 
as  thus  presented,  we  must  answer,  certainly  not.     Neither 
can  any  man  foretell  any  such  movement  as  the  typhoiii  fever 
which  six  months  hence  is  to  strike  him  down.     If  the  latter 
case   does  not   prove   that   there   are  no   physiologic  laws, 
neither   does   the   former   prove  that  there  avp.  no  laws  of 
history.     In  both  instances,  the  antecedents  of  the  pheno- 
menon are  irresistibly  working  out  their  results ;  though,  in 
both  cases,  they  are  so  complicated  that  no  human  skill  can 
accurately  anticipate  their  course.     But  to  a  different  present- 
ment of  Mr.  Fronde's  question,  we  might  return  a  different 
answer.     Tliere  is  a  sense  in  which  movements  like  Moham- 
medanism, or  Buddhism,  or  Christianity,  could  not  have  been 
predicted,  and  there  is  a  sense  in  which  they  could  have  been. 
What  could  not  have  been  predicted  was  the  peculiar  character 
impressed  upon  these  movements  by  the  gigantic  personalities 
of  such  men  as  Mohammed  and  Omar,  Sakyamuni,  Jesus  and 
Paul.     What  could  have   been   predicted   was   the   general 
character  and  direction  of  the  movements.     For  example,  as 
I   shall   show   in   the  following  chapter,  Christianity  as   a 
universal  religion  was  not  possible  until  Eome  had  united  in 
I  single  commonwealth  the  progressive  nations  of  the  w'orld. 
And  when  Eome  had  accomplished  this  task,  it  might  well 
have  been  predicted  that  before  long  a  religion  would  arise, 
which    should  substitute   monotheism  for  polytheism,  pro- 
claiming the  universal  fatherhood  of  God,  and  the  universal 
brotherhood  of  men.     I  admit  that  such  a  prediction  could 
have  been  made  only  by  a  person  familiar  with  scientific 
modes  of  thought  not  then  in  existence ;  but  could  such  a 
person  have  been  present  to  contemplate  the  phenomena,  he 
might  have  foreseen  such  a  revolution  in  its  main  features, 
as  being  an  inevitable  result  of  the  interaction  of  Jewish, 
Hellenic  and  Eoman  ideas.     I  am  inclined  to  think  he  might 


170  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

have  foreseen  that  it  would  arise  in  Palestine,  that  its  spread 
would  be  confined  to  the  area  covered  by  Roman  civilization, 
and  that  its  work  would  for  a  lonq;  time  be  most  thoroufjh  in 
the  most  thoroughly  Romanized  regions. 

We  do  not  need,  however,  to  insist  upon  this  point.  For  in 
none  of  the  concrete  sciences  is  there  anything  like  thorough 
and  systematic  prevision,  save  in  astronomy ;  and  even  in 
astronomy,  our  foresight  becomes  precarious  as  soon  as 
we  pass  beyond  the  solar  system,  and  begin  to  inquire  into 
the  results  of  the  mutual  gravitation  of  the  innumerable 
stellar  bodies.  We  know  that  our  sun  is  rushiug,  with 
immense  velocity,  toward  the  constellation  Hercules  ;  but  we 
cannot  yet  trace  his  orbit,  as  Kepler  traced  the  orbit  of  Mars. 
When  we  come  to  biology  and  psychology,  the  power  of  accu- 
rate prevision  is  very  small ;  yet  no  one  denies  that  the 
phenomena  of  life  and  intelligence  conform  to  fixed  and 
ascertainable  laws.  In  sociology  we  must  expect  still  less 
ability  to  predict.  The  truth  is,  as  Comte  acutely  pointed 
out,  that  while  in  the  simpler  sciences  our  object  is  gained  if 
we  can  foretell  the  course  of  phenomena  so  as  to  be  able  to 
regulate  our  actions  by  it,  in  the  more  complex  sciences  our 
object  is  gained  when  we  have  generalized  the  conditions 
under  which  phenomena  occur  so  as  to  be  able  to  make  our 
volitions  count  for  something  in  modifying  them.  We  cannot 
modify  astronomic  phenomena.,  but  we  can  predict  them.  We 
cannot  predict,  save  to  a  limited  extent,  biologic  phenomena ; 
but,  knowing  more  and  more  thoroughly  the  conditions  under 
which  they  occur,  we  can  more  and  more  skilfully  modify 
them  so  as  to  ensure  health  or  overcome  disease.  And 
obviously  even  this  limited  ability  to  modify  the  phenomena 
implies  a  certain  amount  of  prevision, — quite  enough  to 
justify  us  in  asserting  that  the  phenomena  conform  to  law 
The  case  is  similar  in  sociology.  Though  we  may  not  be 
able  definitely  to  predict  a  given  political  revolution,  we  may 
nevertheless  understand  the  general  movement  of  affairs  and 


CH.  xvii.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FREE-WILL.  171 

the  effects  which  certain  kinds  of  legislation  are  likely  to 
produce,  so  as  to  hasten  a  desired  result  or  avert  social  mis- 
chief. Upon  this  possibility  are  based  all  our  methods  of 
government  and  of  education.  And,  as  in  biology,  this  ability 
to  modify  the  phenomena  proves  that  the  phenomena  occur  in 
some  fixed  order  of  sequence.  Eor  if  there  were  phenomena 
without  any  definite  order  of  sequence,  we  could  neither 
predict  nor  modify  them ;  and  where  there  is  a  definite  order 
of  sequence,  there  is,  or  may  be,  a  science. 

Now  in  denying  that  there  is  or  can  be  a  science  of 
history,  IMr.  Froude,  if  he  means  anything,  means  that 
social  affairs  have  no  fixed  order  of  sequence,  but  are  the 
sport  of  chance.  Either  Law  or  Chance — these  are  the 
only  alternatives,  unless  we  were  to  have  recourse,  like  the 
Mussulman,  to  Destiny,  an  illegitimate  third  idea,  made  up 
of  the  other  two  misconceived  and  mutilated  in  order  to  fit 
together.  But  for  the  modern  thinker  there  is  no  middle 
course.  It  is  either  symmetry  or  confusion,  law  or  chance, 
and  between  the  two  antagonist  conceptions  there  can  be  no 
compromise.  If  the  law  of  causation  is  universal,  we  must 
accept  the  theory  of  law.  If  it  has  ever,  in  any  one  instance, 
been  violated,  we  may  be  excused  for  taking  up  with  the 
theory  of  chance.  Now  we  know  that  all  the  vast  bodies  in 
this  sidereal  universe  move  on  for  untold  ages  in  their  orbits, 
in  strict  conformity  to  law.  In  conformity  to  law,  the  solar 
system  in  all  its  complexity  has  grown  out  of  a  homogeneous 
nebula ;  and  the  crust  of  the  cooling  earth  has  condensed 
into  a  rigid  surface  fit  for  the  maintenance  of  organic  life. 
Out  of  plastic  materials  furnished  by  this  surface  and  the 
air  and  moisture  by  which  it  is  enveloped,  organic  life  has 
arisen  and  been  multiplied  in  countless  differing  forms,  aU  in 
accordance  with  law.  Of  this  aggregate  of  organic  existence, 
man,  the  most  complex  and  perfect  type,  lives  and  moves 
and  has  his  being  in  strict  conformity  to  law.  His  periods 
of  activity  and  repose  are  limited  by  planetary  rotations. 


172  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

His  achievements,  physical  and  mental,  are  deterniined  by 
the  rate  of  his  nntrition,  and  by  the  molecular  structure  and 
relative  weight  of  the  nervous  matter  contained  in  him.  His 
very  thoughts  must  chase  each  other  along  definite  paths  and 
contiguous  channels  marked  out  by  the  laws  of  association. 
Throughout  these  various  phenomena,  already  generalized  for 
us  by  astronomers,  geologists,  biologists,  and  psychologists, 
we  know  that  neither  at  any  time  nor  in  any  place  is  law 
interfered  with, — that  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever,  the  effect 
follows  the  cause  with  inevitable  and  inexorable  certainty. 
And  yet  we  are  asked  to  believe  that  in  one  particular 
corner  of  the  universe,  upon  the  surface  of  one  little  planet, 
in  a  j)ortion  of  the  organism  of  one  particular  creature, 
there  is  one  special  phenomenon,  called  volition,  in  which 
the  law  of  causation  ceases  to  operate,  and  everything  goes 
helter-skelter ! 

Such  is  the  demand  which  ]\Ir.  Froude  makes  upon  our 
powers  of  acquiescence,  and  such  is  the  theory  which  Mr. 
Goldwin  Smith,  in  the  interests  of  theology,  pronounces  it 
unphilosophical,  if  not  impious,  for  us  to  reject.  Of  the 
Science  of  History,  Mr.  Smith  asserts  that  "it  extinguishes 
all  sympathy  "  ;  it  "  must  put  an  end  to  self-exertion " ;  it 
"  would  dissolve  the  human  family";  it  makes  man  the  most 
helpless  of  animals,  no  better  in  fact  than  "  a  beast  or  a  blade 
of  grass  "  ;  it  degrades  humanity  to  mere  clay ;  it  establishes 
"a  strange  contradiction  between  our  outward  observation 
and  our  inward  consciousness ;  it  makes  us  "  render  up  our 
personality,"  and  become  "  a  mere  link  in  a  chain  of  causa- 
tion, a  mere  grain  in  a  mass  of  being  " ;  it  builds  up,  "  with 
much  exultation,"  an  "  adamantine  barrier  of  law " — what- 
ever that  may  be — between  man  and  the  source  of  all  good- 
ness ;  and,  to  crown  all,  it  tells  us  that  "  conscience  is  an 
'Uusion,"  and  prevents  our  having  any  "  rule  of  right  action."  * 

1  Lectures  on  the  Study  of  History,  pp.  63,  67,  48,  82,  85,  87,  59.  Far 
ibler  meu  than  Mr.  Smith  or  Mr.  Froule  have  iu  like  mmner  allowed  theii 


en.  xvii.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FBEE-WILL.  173 

Hard  words  are  as  powerless  to  overthrow  as  to  establish 
B  philosophical  theory.  In  scieutific  inquiry  the  ability  to 
weigh  evidence  goes  for  much,  but  facility  in  declamation 
goes  for  little.  And  to  anyone  who  has  been  brought  up 
amid  scientific  pursuits,  there  is  but  little  that  is  instructive 
or  edifying  in  the  fervid  rhetoric  of  a  writer  who,  in  attack- 
ing a  disagreeable  doctrine,  prefers  to  stigmatize  it  as  dis- 
agreeable, rather  than  to  show  that  the  evidence  is  against  it. 
Nevertheless  beneath  the  emotional  assertions  just  quoted 
there  lies  a  complicated  theoretical  misconception,  the  cha- 
racter of  which  it  is  worth  our  while  to  examine.  The  well- 
worn  argument  is  that  unless  the  human  will  were  "  free," 
there  could  be  no  responsibility,  and  therefore  no  morality ; 
that  if  volitions  are  caused,  even  though  it  be  by  our  own 
desires,  we  are  all  in  a  condition  similar  to  that  of  the  man 
who  has  made  a  promise  under  duress,  to  whom  neither 
praise  nor  blame  can  justly  be  attached  for  the  manner  in 
which  his  promise  is  kept. 

It  is  popularly  supposed  that  there  is  something  very 
forcible  in  this  argument ;  and  that,  when  coupled  with  the 
opposing  arguments  drawn  from  such  sequences  as  are  easily 
traceable  among  human  affairs,  the  result  is  a  puzzle  which 
must  for  ever  remain  insoluble.  The  problem  of  free-will 
has  been  described  by  poets,  and  is  customarily  regarded,  as 
the  most  difficult  problem  which  can  occupy  human  atten- 
tion; and  we  frequently  hear  it  said  that  it  can  never  be 

feelings  to  run  away  with  them  when  treating  of  this  question. — "  Not  the 
picture  of  a  man  ;  but  the  representation  of  an  automaton  that  is  what  it 
cannot  help  heing ;  a  phantom  dreaming  what  it  cannot  but  dream  ;  an 
engine  performing  what  it  must  perform  ;  an  incarnate  reverie  ;  a  weather- 
cock shifting  helplessly  in  the  winds  of  sensibility  ;  a  wretched  association- 
machine,  through  which  ideas  pass  linked  together  by  laws  over  which  the 
machine  has  no  control ;  anything,  in  short,  except  that  free  and  self-sus- 
tained centre  of  underived,  and  therefore  responsible  activity,  which  we  call 
Man"  ; — such,  says  Prof.  Ferriei,  is  "the  false  representation  of  man  which 
pnilosophy  invariably  and  inevitably  pictures  forth  whenever  she  makes 
common  cause  with  the  natural  sciences." — Lectures  and  Philosophical 
Remains,  vol.  ii.  p.  19/).  Verily  the  free-will  question  is  a  great  opener  of  th« 
Uood-gates  of  rhetoric  I 


174  COSMIC  PHILOSOFUY.  [pt.  n. 

completely  solved.  But  in  reality  all  this  perplexity  is  tlie 
result  of  the  desperate  muddle  into  which  metaphysics  has 
brought  the  subject.  Strip  the  question  of  the  peculiar  meta- 
physical jargon  in  which  it  is  usually  propounded,  restate  it 
in  precise  scientific  language,  and  it  becomes  a  very  easy 
question  to  answer.  Would  that  science  presented  none 
more  difficult !  Confused  and  inaccurate  verbiage  is  respon- 
sible for  the  chronic  disputation  upon  this  subject.  No- 
where else  is  Berkeley's  complaint  so  thoroughly  applicable, 
that  in  dealing  with  metaphysics  men  first  kick  up  a  dust 
and  then  wonder  why  they  cannot  see  through  it.  Those 
who  have  come  to  regard  the  question  from  a  purely  scientific 
point  of  view,  also  regard  it  as  thoroughly  settled ;  and  the 
need  for  refuting  such  arguments  as  the  one  above  cited,  they 
class  among  the  needs,  too  often  thrust  upon  us,  of  refuting 
fallacies  already  thrice  exploded.  In  illustration  of  this,  let 
us  notice  the  theory  which  the  free-will  argument  implies 
concerning  the  nature  of  volition. 

The  theory  implies  that  over  and  above  particular  acts  of 
volition,  there  is  a  certain  entity  called  "  The  Will,"  which 
is  itself  a  sort  of  personage  within  the  human  personality. 
This  entity,  called  "  The  Will,"  is  supposed  to  have  desires 
and  intentions  of  its  own,  which  the  causationists  are  sup- 
posed to  declare  constantly  liable  to  be  frustrated  by  external 
agencies.  In  opposition  to  this  imaginary  heresy,  it  is 
asserted  that  this  autocratic  WiU  is  "  free,"  and  sitting  in 
judgment  over  "motives,"  may  set  aside  the  stronger  in 
favour  of  a  weaker,  or  may  issue  a  decree  in  defiance  of  all 
motives  alike.  Some  such  crude  conception  as  this  is  im- 
plicitly conveyed  by  every  statement  which,  alluding  to  the 
Will  as  an  entity,  ascribes  " freedom"  to  it.  Only  by  means 
of  such  a  conception  can  the  phrase  "  freedom  of  the  Will  " 
be  shielded  from  the  imputation  of  nonsense.  Only  thus 
can  the  argument  above  cited  be  regarded  as  relevant  to  the 
subject  in  dispute.     For  if  Will  be  not  conceived  as  an 


«H.  XVII.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FREE-WILL.  176 

entity  acting  under  conditions,  then  no  comparison  can  be 
made  between  caused  volition  and  constrained  behaviour. 
If  instead  of  "  The  Will "  we  look  at  the  act  of  willing— 
which  is  not  an  entity,  but  a  dynamic  process— then  it  be- 
comes absurd  to  talk  of  this  act  as  being  either  free  or  not 
free,  and  we  must  seek  for  some  other  word  than  "  freedom  " 
by  which  to  designate  its  alleged  want  of  causal  connection 
with  preceding  psychical  states. 

Now  the  tendency  to  erect  relations  and  processes  into 
entities  is  a  tendency  which  modern  metaphysics  has  in- 
herited from  a  mischievous  mode  of  thought  current  in 
ancient  times  and  rather  loosely  known  as  "Eealism." 
Among  metaphysicians,  unused  to  the  habits  of  thought 
which  science  nurtures,  the  tendency  is  an  almost  irresistible 
one.  Civilization,  for  example,  is  obviously  a  process,  but 
Dr.  Whately  continually  speaks  of  it  as  if  it  were  a  thing 
which  could  be  handed  about  from  one  nation  to  another,  or 
hidden  away  for  a  time  in  some  dark  corner.  And  upon 
this  amusing  misconception  he  builds  a  wonderful  theory, 
which,  however,  it  is  not  worth  while  for  any  busy  man  to 
stop  and  refute.  It  is  in  a  similar  way,  and  owing  to  the 
same  realistic  tendency,  that  there  has  arisen  the  conception 
of  such  an  entity  as  "  The  Will,"  the  existence  of  which 
modern  psychology  does  not  recognize  any  more  than  it 
recognizes  the  lapidity  of  stones  or  the  uhication  of  points 
in  space.  Modern  psychology  is  concerned  only  with  the 
'process  of  will,  or  volition.  As  Dr.  ^Maudsley  observes,  "  it 
is  not  man's  function  in  life  to  think  and  feel  only :  his 
inner  life  he  must  express  or  utter  in  action  of  some  kind 
— in  word  or  deed.  Keceiving  impressions  from  nature,  of 
vhich  he  is  a  part,  he  reacts  upon  nature  intelligently, 
modifying  it  in  a  variety  of  ways.  .  .  As  the  spinal  cord 
reacts  to  its  impressions  in  excito-motor  action,  and  as  the 
sensory  centres  react  to  their  impressions  in  sensorl-motor 
action,  so,  after  the  complex  interworking  and  combination 


176  COSMIC  FHILOSOPBT.  [pt.  ii. 

of  ideas  in  tlie  hemispherical  ganglia,  there  is  in  like  manner 
a  reaction  or  desire  of  determination  of  energy  outwards, 
in  accordance  with  the  fundamental  property  of  organic 
structure  to  seek  what  is  beneficial  and  to  shun  what  ia 
hurtful  to  it.  It  is  this  property  of  tissue  that  gives  the 
impulse  which,  when  guided  by  intelligence,  we  call  volition ; 
and  it  is  the  abstraction  from  the  particular  volitions  which 
metaphysicians  personify  as  the  Will.  .  .  .  Physiologically 
we  cannot  choose  but  reject  the  Will :  volition  we  know,  and 
will  we  know,  but  the  Will,  apart  from  particular  acts  of 
volition  or  will,  we  cannot  know.  To  interpose  such  a 
metaphysical  entity  between  reflection  and  action  thereupon, 
would  bring  us  logically  to  the  necessity  of  interposing  a 
similai  entity  between  the  stimulus  to  the  spinal  cord  and 
its  reaction.  Thus  instead  of  unravelling  the  complex  by 
help  of  the  more  simple,  we  should  obscure  the  simple  by 
speculations  concerning  the  complex."  As  scientific  in- 
quirers, "  we  have  to  deal  with  volition  as  a  function  of  the 
supreme  centres,  following  reflection,  varying  in  quantity 
and  quality  as  its  cause  varies,  strengthened  by  education 
and  exercise,  enfeebled  by  disease,  decaying  with  decay  of 
structure,  and  always  needing  for  its  outward  expression  the 
educated  agency  of  the  subordinate  motor  centres.  We 
have  to  deal  with  will,  not  as  a  single  undecomposable 
faculty  unaffected  by  bodily  conditions,  but  as  a  result  of 
organic  changes  in  the  supreme  centres,  affected  as  certainly 
and  seriously  by  disorder  of  them  as  our  motor  faculties  are 
by  disorder  of  their  centres.  Loss  of  power  of  will  is  one  of 
:he  earliest  and  most  characteristic  symptoms  of  mental 
derangement;  and  whatever  may  have  been  thought  in  times 
past,  we  know  well  now  that  the  loss  is  not  the  work  of 
some  unclean  spirit  that  has  laid  its  hands  upon  the  Will, 
Dut  the  direct  effect  of  physical  disease." 
Volition  is,  accordingly,  that  transformation  of  feeling  into 
^  Bodij  and  Mind,  pp.  22,  23. 


£iH.  XVII.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FREE-WILL.  177 

action  wliicli  is  attended  by  a  conscious  comparison  of  im- 
pressions, and  which  involves  nutritive  changes  in  the  cere- 
brum or  cerebellum,  or  in  both.  As  we  saw  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  the  sequence  of  actions  upon  impressions  is 
either  reflex  or  instinctive,  and  in  either  case  automatic,  so 
long  as  the  nervous  energy  liberated  by  the  impression  ia 
instantly  discharged  througli  a  completely  permeable  chan- 
nel or  set  of  channels.  But  in  those  higher  organisms  in 
which  an  immensely  varied  experience  has  established  innu- 
merable complex  systems  of  less  permeable  channels,  there 
intervenes  between  the  liberation  of  energy  in  the  brain  and 
its  discharge  upon  the  motor  centres  a  period  during  which 
there  is  a  tension  between  various  nerve- currents,  each  seek- 
ing to  discharge  itself  along  the  most  permeable  lines  of 
transit.  We  saw  also  that  this  period  of  tension  is  a  period 
of  conscious  deliberation,  involving  conscious  reflection,  and 
feelings  of  desire  or  aversion.  And  these  views  turned  out 
to  be  justified  by  the  fact  that  as  soon  as  the  frequent  repeti- 
tion of  any  given  set  of  experiences  has  rendered  all  the 
transit-lines  involved  in  the  case  completely  permeable,  so 
that  there  is  no  longer  any  appreciable  period  of  tension, 
then  the  acts  once  conscious  and  voluntary  become  invo- 
luntary and  automatic. 

Now  the  state  of  consciousness  called  Desire  is  accom- 
panied by  a  nascent  excitement  of  the  nerve-fibres  distributed 
upon  the  muscular  apparatus  whose  activity  is  requisite  for 
the  attainment  of  the  desired  object.  There  is  a  tendency  to 
go  through  with  the  movements  needful  for  realizing  the 
desire;  and  this  tendency,  unless  neutralized  by  an  an- 
tagonist tendency,  must  end  in  action.  In  the  language  of 
dynamics,  tension  when  not  counteracted  by  opposing 
tension,  must  pass  into  vis  viva.  This  passage  of  nervous 
lendion  into  nervous  vi^  viva  constitutes  volition,  which  may 
VOL.  II.  H 


17a  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

fcr  piactical  purposes  be  regarded  indifferently  as  the  final 
stage  of  emotion  or  as  the  initial  stage  of  action. 

Passing  from  the  ease  in  which  a  single  desire  is  operative 
let  us  briefly  consider  the  special  case  of  two  conflicting 
desires,  where  the  gratification  of  the  one  is  incom- 
patible with  that  of  the  other.  In  this  case,  two  groups  of 
inotor-nerves  are  uascently-excited.  Here  there  are  two 
opposite  tensions,  and  the  resulting  action  will  depend  on 
their  comparative  strength.  If  they  exactly  neutralize  each 
other,  as  in  the  hypothetical  case  of  the  ass  between  tlie  two 
bundles  of  hay,  no  volition  will  ensue.  But  in  a  complex 
aggregate,  like  the  human  or  animal  organism,  such  a  state 
of  equilibrium  cannot  be  of  long  continuance.  Sooner  or 
later, — either  from  the  greater  vividness  with  which  one  of 
the  desired  objects  is  mentally  realized,  or  from  any  one  of  a 
thousand  other  disturbing  circumstances  down  to  those  of  a 
purely  physical  nature, — one  desire  will  become  stronger 
than  the  other.  And  instantly  thereupon,  the  surplus  nervous 
tension  remaining  after  the  weaker  desire  is  neutralized,  will 
pass  into  nervous  vis  viva;  or,  in  other  words,  volition  will 
take  place. 

The  opposing  tension  need  not,  however,  have  desire  for  its 
concomitant.  It  may  be  furnished  by  the  mere  inertia  of  the 
nervo-muscular  system ;  as  when  a  man,  vvishing  to  do  some- 
thing which  requires  exertion,  is  too  weary  to  do  it.  Weariness 
implies  a  diminution  in  tlie  total  amount  of  contractile  force ; 
a  state  in  which  a  tension  greater  than  ordinary  is  obviously 
required  for  the  initiation  of  muscular  motion.  Conversely, 
the  originating  tension  need  not  always  be  supplied  by  desire, 
out  may  be  consequent  upon  vivacity,  which  is  the  presence 
Df  a  superfluous  amount  of  vital  energy  ;  as  exemplified  alike 
in  the  morning  frolics  of  an  infant,  in  the  singing  of  birds, 
tnd  in  the  gambols  of  a  dog  when  released  from  his  kennel. 

Casos  as  simple  as  those  here  treated  occur  no  doubt  with 
comparative  infrequency.    Usually  a  great  number  of  motives. 


BH.  xvn.J  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FREE-WILL.  179 

indefinitely  complex  and  variable  in  their  mutual  combina- 
tions and  oppositions,  are  simultaneously  opera!  ive.  But 
however  numerous  or  complicated  the  forces  at  ^^ork,  from 
whatever  source  the  motives  to  action  or  inaction  arise,  what- 
ever be  the  nature  of  the  incentives  to  one  kind  of  conduct 
or  to  some  other  kind,  it  is  equally  true  that  the  result 
depends  upon  their  comparative  strength.  Indeed,  since 
forces  can  be  measured  only  by  their  effects,  to  say  that 
of  two  conflicting  motives  one  is  followed  by  volition,  is  to 
call  that  motive  the  stronger  one.  "  Our  only  evidence  of 
excess  of  force  is  the  movement  it  produces  "  ;  and  when  the 
ancient  engineer  wished  to  ascertain  the  comparative  power 
of  a  couple  of  catapults,  he  had  no  alternative  but  to  see 
which  would  hurl  its  stone  to  the  greater  distance.  To  say 
explicitly  that  volition  does  not  follow  the  strongest  motive, 
is  to  say  implicitly  that  motion  does  not  always  follow  the 
line  of  least  resistance ;  which  is  to  deny  the  persistence 
of  force. 

Volition  being  accordingly  regarded  as  the  process  whereby 
feeling  initiates  action,  it  becomes  evident  that  the  term 
"  free "  is  no  more  applicable  to  it  than  the  term  "  copper- 
coloured."  As  Mr.  Bain  observes  ;  "  The  designation  '  liberty 
of  choice '  has  no  real  meaning,  except  as  denying  extraneous 
interference.  If  I  am  interfered  with  by  another  person  com- 
pelling me  to  act  in  one  way,  then  it  may  be  said,  intel- 
ligibly enough,  that  I  have  not  liberty  of  choice.  But,  as 
between  the  different  motives  of  my  own  mind,  there  is  no 
meaning  in  the  use  of  the  word  *  liberty.'  Various  motives, — 
present  or  prospective  pleasures  and  pains, — concur  in  urging 
me  to  act.  The  result  of  the  conflict  shows  that  one  group  is 
stronger  than  another,  and  that  is  the  whole  case."^  Or, 
as  M.  Littre  has  still  more  forcibly  reminded  us,  the  term 
"  liberty,"  as  applied  to  volition,  ineans  the  power  of  obeying 
the  strongest  motive.  When  that  power  is  interfered  withj 
^  Bain,  The  Emotions  and  the  IFillf  1st  edit.  p.  550. 

N   2 


180  COSMIO  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

by  paralysis  or  insanity,  or  the  constraint  exercised  by  other 
persons,  then  we  may  truly  say  that  we  are  deprived  of  free- 
will and  of  responsibility.  But  so  long  as  circumstances  allow 
volition  to  follow  the  strongest  motive,  then  we  truly  say  that 
we  are  free  and  responsible  for  our  actions.  Thus  the  tables 
are  completely  turned,  and  much  of  the  current  disputation 
on  this  subject  is  reduced  at  once  to  unmeaning  verbiage. 
The  popular  arguments  in  favour  of  "  freedom  "  are  seen  to 
be  as  palpable  cases  of  ignoratio  elenclii  as  are  those  daily 
urged  against  the  development  hypothesis.  By  a  scientific 
definition  of  Will,  the  assertion  of  freedom  is  set  aside  a3 
irrelevant,  leaving  behind  the  assertion  of  non-causation. 
That  this  too  is  virtually  disposed  of  by  the  same  definition, 
scarcely  needs  pointing  out.  Yet,  for  the  sake  of  still  greater 
clearness,  our  present  results  may  fitly  be  supplemented  by  a 
new  class  of  considerations. 

That  volitions  differ  from  all  other  phenomena  by  their 
capability  of  occurring  without  any  cause,  is  the  opinion  o£ 
the  free-will  philosophers ;.  and  Mr.  Smith,  in  criticizing 
the  contrary  opinion,  remarks  that  "if  comets  formed  their 
own  future  "  {i.e.,  were  endowed  with  volition),  "  they  would 
be  rather  embarrassing  subjects  of  science."  Without  at- 
tempting to  decipher  the  vagaries  in  which  these  cosmical 
bodies  might  in  such  case  take  it  upon  themselves  to  in- 
dulge,^ it  will  be  enough  for  my  present  purpose  to  point  out 
some  of  the  shoals  on  which  the  free-will  doctrine  must  land 
its  defenders.  If  volitions  arise  without  cause,  it  necessarily 
follows  that  we  cannot  infer  from  them  the  character  of  the 
antecedent  states  of  feeling.  If,  therefore,  a  murder  has  been 
committed,  we  have  d  priori  no  better  reason  foi  suspecting 

^  In  point  of  fact  a  comet  does  "form  its  own  future"  iu  tlie  same  way 
:hat  a  man  does.  The  state  of  a  heavenly  body  at  any  given  moment  is  a 
product,  partly  of  the  forces,  molar  and  molecular,  with  which  it  was  endowed 
at  the  preceding  moment,  and  partly  of  the  forces  simultaneously  exerted 
npou  it  by  environing  heavenly  bodies.  The  case  of  human  volition  differs 
from  this  in  nothing  save  the  number  and  complexity,  and  cousequent  rel* 
tiv«  iucalculableness,  of  the  forces  at  work. 


BH.  xvn.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FREE-WILL.  181 

the  worst  enemy  tlian  the  best  friend  of  the  murdered  man. 
If  we  see  a  man  jump  fi'oni  a  fourth-story  window,  we  must 
licware  of  too  hastily  inferring  his  insanity,  since  he  may  be 
merely  exercising  his  free-will ;  the  intense  love  of  life  im- 
planted in  the  human  breast  being,  as  it  seems,  unconnected 
with  attempts  at  suicide  or  at  self-preservation.  We  can  thus 
frame  no  theory  of  human  actions  whatever.  The  countless 
empirical  maxims  of  every-day  life,  the  embodiment  as  they 
are  of  the  inherited  and  organized  sagacity  of  many  genera- 
tions, become  wholly  incompetent  to  guide  us  ;  and  nothing 
which  any  one  may  do,  ought  ever  to  occasion  surprise.  The 
mother  may  strangle  her  first-born  child,  the  miser  may  cast 
his  long-treasured  gold  into  the  sea,  the  sculptor  may  break 
in  pieces  his  lately-finished  statue,  in  -the  presence  of  no 
other  feelings  than  those  which  before  led  them  to  cherish, 
to  hoard,  and  to  create. 

To  state  these  conclusions  is  to  refute  their  premise. 
Probably  no  defender  of  the  doctrine  of  free-will  could  be 
induced  to  accept  them,  even  to  save  the  theorem  with  which 
they  are  inseparably  wrapped-up.  Yet  the  dilemma  cannot 
be  avoided.  Volitions  are  either  caused,  or  they  are  not.  If 
they  are  not  caused,  an  inexorable  logic  brings  us  to  the 
absurdities  just  mentioned.  If  they  are  caused,  the  free-will 
doctrine  is  annihilated.  No  help  is  afforded  by  the  gratuitous 
hypothesis  tliat  there  is  a  connection  between  the  act  and  the 
motive,  which  yet  is  not  a  causal  connection.  Such  con- 
nection, if  it  exist,  must  be  a  case  either  of  conditional 
invariable  sequence,  or  of  unconditional  invariable  sequence. 
On  the  first  supposition,  we  have  a  case  like  the  succession  of 
day  and  night,  in  which  both  terms  of  the  sequence  are 
conditioned  upon  a  third  fact ;  so  that  here  we  do  not  escape 
causation.  The  second  supposition  is  but  an  asssrtion  of 
causation  in  otlier  words.  While  to  take  refuge  in  the 
postulate  that  this  assumed  connection  is  a  case  of  variable 
sequence,  is  to  af&rm  and  deny  connection  in  the  same  breath, 


182  VOSMIG  FHILOSOPHY.  [pr.  ii. 

But  it  is  said  that  consciousness  declares  tlie  Will  to  be 
free;  and  therefore  that  any  attempt  to  disprove  its  freedom 
by  reasoning  is  suicidal,  since  all  such  reasoning  must  end 
by  impugning  the  veracity  of  that  consciousness  on  which 
its  own  data  are  ultimately  based.  An  ingenious  argument 
truly,  the  conclusion  whereof  would  be  more  readily  ad- 
mitted, if  its  premise  w^ere  true.  Consciousness,  which  is 
so  confidently  appealed  to  as  establishing  by  its  infallible 
verdict  the  doctrine  of  free-will,  in  fact  says  nothing  about 
the  matter.  That  volitions  are  uncaused,  is  a  proposition 
altogether  too  indirect  for  consciousness  to  sit  in  judgment 
upon,  and  it  can  neither  be  proved  nor  disproved  by  simple 
introspection.  It  would  have  been  equally  appropriate  for  the 
mediteval  astronomer  to  appeal  to  consciousness  as  testifying 
to  the  revolution  of  the  sun  about  the  earth.  As  Mr.  Bain 
observes,  "it  is  a  great  stretch  of  asseveration  to  call  the 
construction  of  an  enormous  theory  an  act  of  consciousness 
so  simple  that  we  cannot  make  a  slip  in  performing  it."  ^ 
Consciousness  tells  us  only  that  we  will.  By  observation 
and  experience — not  by  the  simple  and  direct  interrogation 
of  consciousness — we  know  that,  circumstances  permitting, 
our  volitions  may  be  accomplished.  "With  the  exception, 
therefore,  of  those  theological  fatalists  who  assert  that 
human  actions  are  determined  by  an  external  constraining 
power,  it  is  tlie  universal  opinion  that  men  can  voluntarily 
determine  their  own  actions;  and  this  is  just  what  the  much- 
abused  testimony  of  consciousness  amounts  to.  This  is  all  that 
it  means  to  anyone  not  mystified  by  metaphysics ;  the  non- 
causation  of  volitions  being  a  theorem  so  far  from  obvious 
to  a  great  many  men,  that  it  requires  considerable  explana- 
tion to  make  them  understand  it.  By  the  testimony  of 
consciousness,  as  thus  interpreted,  the  assertors  of  the 
lawlessness  of  volition  are  not  helped  in  the  least.  The 
i^uestion  at  issue  between  them  and  their  opponents  is,  not 
*  The  Emotions  and  the  Will,  1st  eJit.  p.  563, 


TH.  xvir.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FBEE-WILL.  183 

whether  the  actions  of  men  are  normally  free,  but  whether  their 
freedom  is  consistent  with  their  being  caused.  The  asserton? 
of  "Tree- Will"  maintain  that  causation  is  inconsistent  with 
liberty,^  The  so-called  necessarians  assert  that  liberty  and 
causation  are  quite  consistent  with  each  other.  To  which  we 
must  now  add,  that  it  is  not  causation,  but  the  absence 
thereof,  which  is  as  incompatible  with  liberty  as  it  is  with  law. 
For  the  causation ist,  believing  that  volition  invariably 
follows  the  stronger  motive,  endeavours  to  increaoe  the 
relative  strength  of  all  those  emotions  whose  outcome  is 
virtuous  and  upright  conduct,  while  he  strives  to  weaken 
those  feelings  whose  tendency  is  toward  base  and  ignoble 
conduct.  Knowing  that  by  continual  indulgence  desire  is  rein- 
forced, while  by  constant  repression  it  is  enfeebled,  he  applies 
this  knowledge  to  the  control  of  his  will  and  the  discipline  of 
his  character.  But  on  the  theory  that  volitions  are  causeless, 
all  methods  of  self-discipline  become  of  no  avail.  If  they 
are  powerless  to  influence  action,  it  is  of  small  practical 
importance  whether  noble  and  sympathetic  or  base  and  selfish 
motives  are  prevalent ;  and  the  moral  distinction  between 
them  loses  most  of  its  significance.  Why,  asks  Mr.  Smith, 
"is  a  Philip  II.  more  the  subject  of  moral  disapprobation 
than  the  plague?"  Why,  indeed,  unless  his  atrocious  crimes 
are  to  be  interpreted  as  the  necessary  outgrowth  of  a  character 
wherein  good  motives  were  impotent  and  bad  motives  all- 
powerful.      Were  volition  self-determining,  then  similar  acts 

1  "  The  law  of  bondage  throughout  the  universe  is  the  law  of  cause  and 
effect.  lu  the  violation,  then,  of  this  law,  true  freedom  must  consist." 
Terrier,  Lectures  and  FJiiJosojiJu'cnl  Remains,  vol.  ii.  p.  255.  One  might 
exjiect  such  a  remark  as  this  from  Jlr.  Goldwin  Sniitli,  who  speaks  of  being 
"  bound  by  the  chain  of  certain  causation  "  ;  but  from  so  acute  a  thinkei 
as  Prof.  Ftrrier,  it  is  surprising.  To  adopt,  in  a  somewhat  altered  sense, 
Kant's  happy  illustration, — the  spectacle  of  a  bird  denouncing  as  an  encum- 
brance the  air  by  which  alone  it  is  enabh-d  to  fly,  would  be  a  fitting  parallel 
to  the  spectacle  of  those  phi]oso])hers  who  decry  that  regularity  of  sequence 
through  which  alone  has  "freedom"  any  meaning.  ^\s  Lessing  long  ago 
said,  with  well-besiowed  contempt,  "  Le  beau  privilege  d'etre  soumis  a  une 
puissance  aveugle  qui  ne  suit  aucune  regie  !  En  seruit-Je  moins  le  jouet  du 
basard  jparce  que  ce  hasard  risiderait  en  inoii" 


184  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [fi.  il 

might  have  been  committed  by  a  Washington  or  a  Bon^oraeo. 
Obviously  there  would  be  little  use  in  laboriously  schooling 
our  desires  to  virtue,  if  at  any  moment  in  spite  thereof,  some 
uncaused  volition  might  bring  forth  from  us  a  detestable 
deed.  It  is  therefore  not  the  doctrine  of  causation,  but  the 
so-called  free-will  doctrine,  that,  if  true,  would  "  put  an  end 
to  self-exertion,"  and  deprive  us  of  every  "rule  of  right 
action."  Since  self-control,  and  therefore  liberty,  is  impossible 
unless  volition  is  determined  by  desire;  it  is  the  latter 
doctrine — not  the  former — which  is  really  inconsistent  with 
the  assertion  of  human  freedom,  which  takes  from  us  the 
dignity  of  responsibility,  and  makes  man  the  sport  of  a 
grotesque  and  purposeless  chance. 

In  truth,  the  immediate  corollaries  of  the  free-will  doc- 
trine are  so  shocking  not  only  to  philosophy  but  to  common- 
sense,  that  were  not  accurate  thinking  a  somewhat  rare 
phenomenon,  it  would  be  inexplicable  how  any  credit  should 
ever  have  been  given  to  such  a  dogma.  This  is  but  one  of 
the  many  instances,  in  wdiich  by  the  force  of  words  alone, 
men  have  been  held  subject  to  chronic  delusion.  The 
libertarian  doctrine  has  obtained  currency  because  it  hats 
talked  loudly  of  human  freedom,  with  which  nevertheless  a 
brief  analysis  proves  it  to  be  incompatible.  Substitute  for 
the  unmeaning  phrase  "  freedom  of  the  Will,"  the  accurate 
phrase  "lawlessness  of  volition,"  and  the  theory  already 
looks  less  plausible.  In  place  of  the  vague  and  ambiguous 
word  *'  necessity,"  w^rite  the  clear  and  definitely-connotative 
word  "  causation,"  and  tlie  scientific  theory  at  once  loses  its 
imaginary  terrors.  The  titles  with  which  the  free-will  doc- 
trine decorates  itself,  and  those  with  which  it  brands  its 
opponent,  are  alike  "  question-begging  epithets."  They  serve 
to  prejudge  the  point  at  issue. 

I^ot  content  with  the  overwhelming  prestige  which  its 
name  thus  gives  it,  the  free-will  doctrine  seeks  to  follow 
up  its  advantage  by  identifying  its  antagonist  with  Asiatic 


oil.  XVI1.J  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FREE-WILL.  185 

fatalism;  a  confusion  of  ideas  like  that  under  wliicli  Mr. 
Bounderby  laboured,  when  unable  to  see  the  difference 
between  giving  workmen  their  just  dues,  and  feeding  them 
with  turtle-soup  out  of  a  gold-lined  spoon.  To  say  that 
actions  dependent  on  volition  will  take  place  whenever  the 
essential  conditions  are  present,  and  to  say  that  they  will  take 
place  even  if  the  conditions  arc  absent,  are  by  free-will 
theorists  held  to  be  one  and  the  same  assertion !  ^  Fatalism 
is,  however,  much  more  closely  akin  to  their  own  doctrine. 
Each  ignores  causation  ;  each  is  incompatible  with  personal 
freedom ;  the  only  difference  between  them  being  that  the 
one  sets  up  Chance,  while  the  other  sets  up  Destiny,  as  the 
arbiter  of  human  affairs.  And  while  each  doctrine  is  theo- 
retically held  by  large  bodies  of  men,  each  in  practice  is 
habitually  contradicted  by  its  upholders.  The  defenders  of 
free-will,  who  in  practice  are  obliged  to  admit  a  certain  con- 
Qection  between  acts  and  motives,  and  the  Arab  fatalists, 
among  whom  the  saying  is  current  that  "  when  Allah  wills 
an  event,  he  prepares  the  causes  beforehand,"  alike  ex- 
emplify this.  Though  both  agree  in  repudiating  causation, 
both  equally  in  their  every-day  maxims  give  evidence  of 
an  unconscious  belief  in  its  existence. 

Having  identified  the  causation  theory  with  fatalism,  it 
becomes  all  the  easier  for  its  opponents  to  accuse  it  of  deny- 
ing moral  responsibility.  Accordingly,  when  Mr.  Buckle, 
following  in  the  footsteps  of  Laplace,  inferred  from  the  regu- 
larity of  the  statistics  of  crime  and  suicide,  marriages  and 
aead-letters, 'that  voluntary  actions  conform  to  law  ;^  it  was 

1  "  Tt  is  owing  to  the  very  general  misconception  of  the  nature  of  Law  that 
there  arises  the  niisconception  of  Necessity  ;  the  fact  that  events  amve  irre- 
sistibly whenever  their  conditions  are  present,  is  confounded  with  the  concep- 
tion that  the  events  must  arrive  whether  the  conditions  be  present  or  not, 
being  fatally  predetermined.  Necessity  simply  says  that  whatever  is  is,  and 
will  vary  with  varying  conditions  Fatalism  says  that  something  must  be; 
and  this  something  cannot  be  modified  by  any  modification  of  the  conditions." 
—Lewes,  Prohlans  of  Life  and  jMiw/,  vol.  'i.  p.  309. 

*  Buckle,  Civilization  in  EnglavA,  vol.  L  pp.  20 — 30 ;  Laplace,  Essai  mtt 
Its  ProbabilUes,  p.  76. 


186  COSMIC  philosophy:  [pt.  II. 

proposed  by  one  of  his  reviewers  that  state-governments 
should  at  once  suspend  judicial  operations,  and  having 
ascertained  from  statistics  the  yearly  number  of  murders, 
should  forthwith  hang  a  corresponding  number  of  individuals, 
selected  by  lot  from  the  community.  To  which  suggestion  the 
natural  reply  would  have  been,  that  if  governments  ever  do 
adopt  this  singular  course  of  administering  justice,  they  will 
then  be  consistently  acting  on  the  belief  that  motives  do  not 
stand  in  a  causal  relation  to  volitions.  If  the  volition  can 
follow  the  weaker  motive,  the  feelings  which  ordinarily 
deter  from  the  commission  of  crime,  need  not  be  strength- 
ened by  the  fear  of  punishment.* 

Thus  do  all  the  favourite  arguments  in  behalf  of  the  free- 
will hypothesis  recoil  upon  its  defenders.  To  adopt  from 
barbarian  warfare,  an  ungraceful  but  expressive  simile,  they 
are  like  awkwardly-thrown  boomerangs  which  wound  the 
thrower.  Attempting,  as  the  free-will  philosophers  do,  to 
destroy  the  science  of  history,  they  are  compelled  by  an 
inexorable  logic  to  pull  down  with  it  the  cardinal  principles 
of  ethics,  politics,  and  jurisprudence.  Political  economy,  if 
rigidly  dealt  with  on  their  theory,  would  fare  little  better ; 
and  psychology  would  become  chaotic  jargon.  That  psy- 
chical actions,  and  volitions  among  them,  conform  to  law,  is 
the  indispensable  axiom  of  every  science  or  philosophy 
which  treats  of  the  mind  and  its   products,  whether  indi- 

1  "  The  very  reason  for  giving  notice  that  we  intend  to  punish  certain  acts, 
and  for  inflicting  punishment  if  the  acts  be  committed,  is  that  we  trust  in  the 
efficacy  of  the  threat  and  the  punishment  as  deterring  motives.  If  the  voli- 
tion of  agents  be  not  influenced  by  motives,  tlie  whole  machinery  of  law 
becomes  unavailing,  and  punishment  a  purposeless  infliction  of  pain.  In  fact 
it  is  on  tliat  very  ground  that  the  madman  is  exempted  from  punishment ; 
his  volition  being  presumed  to  be  not  capable  of  being  acted  upon  by  the 
deterring  motive  of  legal  sanction.  The  free  agent,  thus  understood,  ia  one 
who  can  neither  feel  himself  accountable,  nor  be  rendered  accountable  to  oi 
by  others.  It  is  only  the  necessary  agent  (the  person  whose  volitions  are  de- 
termined by  motives,  and,  in  case,  of  conflict,  by  the  strongest  desire  or  the 
strongest  apprehension)  that  can  be  held  really  accountable,  or  can  feel  him- 
self to  be  so." — Grcto,  Heview  of  Mill's  Examiiiaiion  of  Samilion's  I'hilo^ 
sopliy,  p.  97. 


CH.  XVII.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FREE-WILL.  IW 

vicTually  oi  socially  embodied.  He  wlio  asserts  the  contrary, 
maintains  "  a  form  of  the  INfanichsean  doctrine  of  two  prin- 
ciples ....  in  which  one  principle,  that  of  order,  presides 
over  the  physical  phenomena  of  the  universe,  and  the  other, 
that  of  disorder,  over  its  moral  phenomena."  ^  As  I  have 
already  said,  no  middle  ground  can  be  taken.  The  denial  of 
causation  is  the  affirmation  of  chance,  and  "between  the 
theory  of  Chance  and  the  theory  of  Law,  there  can  be  no 
compromise,  no  reciprocity,  no  borrowing  and  lending."  To 
write  history  on  any  method  furnished  by  the  free-will 
doctrine,  w^ould  be  utterly  impossible.  Mr.  Smith  tells  us 
that  "  finding  at  Eome  a  law  to  encourage  tyrannicide,  we 
are  certain  that  there  had  been  tyrants  at  Eome,  though 
there  is  nothing  approaching  to  historical  evidence  of  the 
tyranny  of  Tarquin."  By  drawing  this  inference  he  abandons 
his  own  principles,  according  to  which  the  law  in  question 
might  have  originated  without  any  cause  except  the  self- 
determining  will  of  some  Eoman  legislator.  And  he  is 
equally  inconsistent  in  saying  that  "  a  nation  may  have  to  go 
through  one  stage  of  knowledge  or  civilization  before  it  can 
reach  another,  but  its  going  through  either  is  still  free'*  If 
by  this  it  is  meant  that  a  nation's  progress  need  not  be  due 
to  constraint  exercised  over  it  by  other  nations,  the  state- 
ment is  true,  but  it  is  one  which  no  one  has  thought  of  dis- 
puting. But  if  it  is  meant  that  the  latter  of  two  successive 
stages  of  civilization  is  not  caused  by  the  former,  the  state- 
ment destroys  itself.  By  admitting  that  "  a  nation  may  have 
to  go  through  one  stage  of  civilization  before  it  can  reach 
another,"  Mr.  Smith  gives  up  his  case  and  concedes  all  which 
has  ever  been  claimed  by  those  who  would  construct  a 
science  of  history.  If  there  is  a  definite  order  of  sequence 
among  the  stages  of  civilization,  that  order  may  sooner  or 
later  be  formulated,  and  to  formulate  that  order  is  to  found 
sociology  as  a  science.  But  if  causation  in  history  is  denied, 
*  "W.  Adam,  Tuories  of  History,  p.  66. 


188  COSMIC  PEILOSOPBY.  [pt  n. 

if  each  epoch  is  not  determined  by  the  preceding  epoch, 
then  the  inference  is  inevitable  that  the  Trench  Eevolution 
might  have  happened  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XI,,  or  that  the 
progress  of  Christianity  might  have  been  eastward  instead  of 
westward.  Thus  all  conception  of  progress,  as  well  as  all 
conception  of  order,  is  at  an  end.  Thus  the  vast  domain  of 
History,  numbering  among  its  component  divisions  the  phe- 
nomena of  Language,  Art,  Eeligion,  and  Government,  the 
products  of  social  activity  as  well  as  the  phases  of  social 
progress,  becomes  an  unruly  chaos,  a  Tohu-va-Bohu,  where 
event  stumbles  after  event,  and  change  jostles  change,  with- 
out sequence  and  without  law. 

I  think,  therefore,  we  are  quite  justified  in  saying  that, 
when  stripped  of  the  metaphysical  jargon  in  which  it  is 
usually  propounded,  the  question  of  free-will  becomes  an 
easy  one  to  answer.  Having  laid  the  dust  which  metaphy- 
sicians have  kicked  up,  we  find  our  vision  no  longer  obscured. 
From  whatever  scientific  stand-point  we  contemplate  the 
doctrine  of  the  lawlessness  of  volition,  we  find  that  its 
plausibleness  depends  solely  on  tricks  of  language.  The  first 
vrick  is  the  personification  of  AVill  as  an  entity  distinct  from 
all  acts  of  volition  ;  the  second  trick  is  the  ascription  to  this 
iSntity  of  "freedom,"  a  word  which  is  meaningless  as  applied 
to  the  process  whereby  feeling  initiates  action  ;  and  the  third 
trick  is  the  assumption  that  desires  or  motives  are  entities 
outside  of  a  person,  so  that  if  his  acts  of  volition  were 
influenced  by  them  he  would  be  robbed  of  his  freedom.  Any- 
one, however,  who  is  not  misled  by  these  verbal  quibbles,  and 
who  bears  in  mind  that  a  person,  psychologically  considered, 
is  nothing  more  than  the  sum  of  his  conscious  states,  will 
perceive  at  once  that  when  the  desires  or  aversions  determine 
the  volitional  acts,  it  is  the  person  himself  who  determines 
them.  We  have  accordingly  seen  that,  since  liberty  of  choice 
means  nothing  if  it  does  not  mean  the  power  to  exert  volition 
in  the  direction  indicated  by  tlie  strongest  group  of  motives ; 


CH.  XVII.]  SOCIOLOGY  AND  FREE-WILL,  189 

and  since  all  control  over  character  is  impossible  unless  de- 
sires and  volitions  occur  in  a  determinate  order  of  sequence  ; 
it  is  the  doctrine  of  lawlessness  and  not  the  causationist 
doctrine  which  is  incompatible  with  liberty  and  destructive 
of  responsibility.  The  rhetoric  which  JNfr.  Goldwin  Smith 
lavishes,  on  the  strength  of  a  set  of  misapplied  plirases,  might 
therefore  be  justly  retorted  upon  him,  on  the  strength  of  a 
psychologic  analysis.  And  this,  which  is  the  conclusion  of 
science,  we  have  seen  to  be  also  the  conclusion  of  common 
sense.  Whatever  may  be  our  official  theories,  we  all  practi- 
cally ignore  and  discredit  the  doctrine  that  volition  is  lawless. 
Whatever  voice  of  tradition  we  may  be  in  the  habit  of 
echoing,  we  do  equally,  from  the  earliest  to  the  latest  day  of 
our  self-conscious  existence,  act  and  calculate  upon  the 
supposition  that  volition,  alike  in  ourselves  and  in  others, 
follows  invariably  the  strongest  motive.  And  upon  this 
ineradicable  belief  are  based  all  our  methods  of  government, 
of  education,  and  of  self-discipline.  Finally,  in  turning  our 
attention  to  history,  we  have  found  that  the  aggregate  of 
thoughts,  desires,  and  volitions  in  any  epoch  is  so  manifestly 
dependent  upon  the  aggregate  of  thoughts,  desires,  and 
volitions  in  the  preceding  epoch,  that  even  the  assertors  of 
the  lawlessness  of  volition  are  forced  to  commit  logical  suicide 
by  recognizing  the  sequence.  Thus,  whether  we  contemplate 
volitions  themselves,  or  compare  their  effects,  whether  we 
resort  to  the  testimony  of  psychology  or  to  the  testimony  of 
history,  we  are  equally  compelled  to  admit  that  Law  is  coex- 
tensive with  all  orders  of  phenomena  and  with  every  species 
of  change. 

It  is  hardly  creditable  to  the  character  of  the  present  age 
tor  scientific  enlightenment  that  such  a  statement  should  need 
"go  be  made,  or  that  twenty-six  pages  of  critical  argument 
should  be  required  to  illustrate  it.  To  many  this  chapter  will 
QO  doubt  seem  much  like  an  elaborate  attempt  to  prove  the 
truth  of  ther  multiplication  table,     i^evertheless  where  such 


190  COSMIC  PHILOSOPEY.  [pt.  ii. 

a  blinding  metaphysical  dust  has  been  raised,  a  few  drops  of 
the  cold  water  of  common-sense  may  be  not  only  harmless 
but  useful  Having  thus  done  somewhat  to  clear  the  air,  we 
may  next  proceed  to  point  out  the  way  in  which  social  changos 
nonform  to  the  Law  of  Evolatioa. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  EVOLUTION   OP   SOCIETY. 

Any  attempt  to  discover  the  laws  to  which  social  chauges 
conform  must  run  great  risk  of  being  frustrated  by  the  mere 
immensity  of  the  mass  of  details  which  the  investigator 
strives  to  arrange  in  orderly  sequence.  Seemingly  number- 
less as  are  the  phenomena  dealt  with  by  the  physical  sciences, 
they  bear  no  proportion,  either  in  multitude  or  in  variety,  to 
the  facts  upon  which  the  student  of  sociology  must  build  his 
scientific  theorems.  Facts  concerning  man  in  his  physical 
relations  to  soil,  climate,  food,  and  the  configuration  of  the 
earth,  blend  with  facts  concerning  the  intellectual  and  moral 
relations  of  men  to  each  other  and  to  the  aspects  of  nature 
by  which  they  are  surrounded,  making  up  a  problem  of  such 
manifold  complexity  that  it  may  well  have  long  been  deemed 
incapable  of  satisfactory  solution.  The  fit  ground  for  wonder 
is,  indeed,  not  that  we  are  as  yet  unable  to  arrive  at  accurate 
prevision  amid  such  a  diversified  throng  of  phenomena,  but 
mat,  considering  the  meagreness  of  our  knowledge  in  many 
other  departments,  we  should  have  been  able  to  detect  any 
uniformity  whatever  in  human  affairs,  and  having  detected 
;t,  to  explain  it  upon  trustworthy  scientific  principles. 

There  is  but  one  way  to  conduct  such  an  intricate  investiga* 
tiou  securely  to  its  final  issue  •  and  that  is,  to  make  extensive 


192  COSMIC  FHIL0S0PH7,  [pt.  ii. 

use  of  elimination  as  it  is  employed  in  the  simpler  sciences. 
"  If  without  any  previous  investigation  of  the  properties  of 
terrestrial  matter,  Newton  had  proceeded  at  once  to  study  the 
dynamics  of  the  universe,  and  after  years  spent  with  the 
telescope  in  ascertaining  the  distances,  sizes,  times  of  revolu- 
tion, inclinations  of  axes,  forms  of  orbits,  perturbations,  etc., 
of  the  celestial  bodies,  had  set  himself  to  tabulate  this 
accumulated  mass  of  observations,  and  to  educe  from  them 
the  fundamental  laws  of  planetary  and  stellar  equilibrium, 
he  might  have  cogitated  to  all  eternity  without  arriving  at  a 
result."  This  lucid  illustration,  which  I  have  cited  from  the 
introduction  to  Mr.  Spencer's  "Social  Statics,"  suggests  the 
proper  method  of  approaching  the  investigation  of  complex 
phenomena.  Minor  perturbing  elements  must  for  a  time  be 
left  out  of  consideration,  just  as  the  inequalities  of  motion 
resulting  from  the  mutual  attractions  of  the  planets  were  at 
first  passed  over  in  the  search  for  the  general  formula  of 
Gravitation.  The  discussion  of  endless  minute  historical 
details  must  be  reserved  until  the  law  of  social  changes  has 
been  deduced  from  the  more  constant  phenomena,  and  is 
ready  for  inductive  verification.  A  law  wide  enough  to  form 
a  basis  for  sociology  must  needs  be  eminently  abstract,  and 
can  be  found  only  by  contemplating  the  most  general  and 
prominent  characteristics  of  social  changes.  The  prime 
requisite  of  the  formula  of  which  we  are  in  quest  is  that  it 
should  accurately  designate  such  changes  under  their  leading 
aspect. 

Now  by  far  the  most  obvious  and  constant  characteristic 
common  to  a  vast  number  of  social  changes  is  that  they  are 
changes  from  a  worse  to  a  better  state  of  things, — that  they 
constitute  phases  of  Progress.  It  is  not  asserted  that  human 
history  has  in  all  times  and  places  been  the  history  of 
progress ;  it  is  not  denied  that  at  various  times  and  in  many 
places  it  has  been  the  history  of  retrogression ;  but  attention 
is  called  to  the  fact — made  trite  by  long  familiarity,  yet  none 


CH.  xviil]  the  evolution  OF  SOCIET.  .  193 

the  less  habitually  misconceived — that  progress  has  been  on 
the  whole  the  most  constant  and  prominent  feature  of  the 
history  of  a  considerable  and  important  portion  of  mankind. 
Around  this  cardinal  fact  have  clustered,  as  I  just  hinted, 
many  serious  misconceptions.  The  illustrious  tliiukers  of 
the  last  century,  who  endeavoured  to  study  human  history 
from  a  scientific  point  of  view,  were  unconsciously  led  into 
an  error  from  which  contemporary  writers  have  not  as  yet 
entirely  freed  themselves.  The  followers  of  Turgot  and 
Coudorcet  were  prone  to  regard  progress  as  something  neces- 
sary and  universal.  They  attempted  to  account  for  it,  much 
as  Lamarck  tried  to  explain  organic  development,  as  the 
continuous  and  ubiquitous  manifestation  of  an  occult,  in- 
herent tendency  toward  perfection.  Subsequent  literature 
exhibits  many  traces  of  this  metaphysical  conception.  Thus 
Dr.  AVhately,  in  his  edition  of  Archbishop  King's  discourses, 
asserts  that  "  civilization  is  the  natural  state  of  man,  since 
he  has  evidently 'a  natural  tendency  toward  it."  Upon  which 
it  has  been  aptly  remarked  that,  "  by  a  parity  of  reasoning, 
old  age  is  the  natural  state  of  man,  since  he  has  evidently 
a  natural  tendency  towards  it."  Indeed,  as  this  comparison 
is  intended  to  show,  it  is  difficult  to  use  such  expressions 
as  "natural  state"  and  "natural  tendency"  without  becoming 
involved  in  a  confusion  of  ideas.  And  to  ascribe  progress 
to  an  inherent  tendency,  without  taking  into  account  the 
complex  set  of  conditions  amid  which  alone  that  tendency 
can  be  realized,  is  to  give  us  an  empty  formula  instead  of 
d  scientific  explanation.  Whether  the  individual  will  die 
young  or  reach  old  age,  and  whether  the  community  will 
remain  barbarous  or  become  civilized,  depends,  to  a  great 
extent,  upon  environing  circumstances ;  and  no  theory  of 
progress  can  have  any  value  which  omits  the  consideration 
of  this  fact.  Mr.  William  Adam  labours  under  the  confusion 
of  ideas  here  signalized,  when  he  finds  fault  with  Sir  G.  C. 
Lewis  for  upholding  the  doc'iiine  of  progress  while  admitting 

VOL.  IL  O 


194  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [ft.  a 

that  certain  rades  have  never  advanced  in  civilization.     For 
this,  Mr.  Adam  accuses  him  of  virtually  dividing  mankind 
into   two    differently-constituted   races,   of    which   the    one 
possesses,  while  the  other  lacks,  the  inherent  tendency  toward 
perfection!^      He  might  as  well  maintain  that  because  we 
admit  that  certain  men  are  stunted,  while  others  grow  tall, 
we  divide  mankind  into  two  differently-constituted  races,  of 
which  the  one  possesses  while  the  other  lacks,  the  inherent 
tendency   toward  increase   in   size.     Closely  allied   to    this 
fallacy  is  that  which  associates  lateness  in  time  with  com- 
pleteness in  development,  and  requires  us  to  assume  that 
nowhere  at  any  time  has  there  been  a  temporary  retrogression. 
Thus   Mr.  Goldwin   Smith  appears  to  be  confused  by  the 
impression  that  the  temporary  decline  in  the  moral  tone  of 
English  society  after  the  Eestoration  of  Charles  II.,  is  a  fact 
inconsistent  with  the  doctrine  of  a  general  progress.     And 
Mr.  Mansel  still  more  preposterously  declares  that  on  the 
theory  of  progression  we  ought  to  regard  the  polytheism  of 
imperial  Eome  as  a  higher  form  of  religion  than  the  earlier 
Hebrew  worship  of  Jehovah.     "While  another  form  of  the 
same  confusion  is  to  be  seen  in  the  attempts  which  writers 
imbued  with  the  conception  of  progress  often  make,  to  coax 
the  annals   of   the  past  into   affirming   the    uninterrupted 
advance  of  civilization. 

These  examples  show  how  vaguely  the  doctrine  of  progress 
has  hitherto  been  apprehended.  The  fallacy  of  supposing 
civilization  to  have  proceeded  serially,  or  uniformly,  or  in 
consequence  of  any  universal  tendency,  is  nearly  akin  to  the 
fallacy  of  classifying  the  animal  kingdom  in  a  series  of  ascend- 
ing groups, — a  fruitful  source  of  delusion,  which  it  was  Cuvier's 
great  merit  to  have  steadily  avoided.  The  theological  habit 
of  viewing  progressiveness  as  a  divine  gift  to  man,^  and  the 

*  W.  Adam,  Theories  of  History,  p.  87. 

•  "  It  is  impossible  for  mere  savages  to  civilize  themselves.  ,  ._  ._  Con- 
sequently men  must  at  some  period  have  received  the  rudiments  of  ciTilJxatiaa 


ra,  XVIII.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY,  195 

aietaphysical  habit  of  regarding  it  as  a  necessary  attribute  of 
humanity,  are  equally  unsound  and  equally  fraught  with 
error.  Until  more  accurate  conceptions  are  acquired,  no 
secure  advance  can  be  made  toward  discerning  the  true 
order  of  social  changes.  Far  from  being  necessary  and 
universal,  progress  has  been  in  an  eminent  degree  contingent 
and  partial.  Its  career  has  been  frequently  interrupted  by 
periods  of  stagnation  or  declension,  and  wherever  it  has 
gone  on,  it  has  been  forwarded,  not  by  an  inexplicable  ten- 
dency or  nisus,  but  by  a  concurrence  of  favourable  con- 
ditions, external  and  internal  We  must  remember  more- 
over, as  Sir  Henry  Maine  reminds  us,*  that  the  communities 
which  have  attained  to  a  conspicuous  degree  of  civilization 
constitute  a  numerical  minority  of  mankind.  Contempora- 
neous with  the  rapidly  advancing  nations  of  Europe  exist 
the  sluggish  nations  of  Asia,  and  the  almost  stationary  tribes 
of  Afiica  and  Polynesia. 

**  Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay.* 

So  irregular,  indeed,  has  been  the  march  of  civilization,  that 
most  stages  of  progress  may  be  made  the  subject  of  ocular 
investigation  at  the  present  day. 

In  the  science  of  history,  therefore,  old  "means  not  old 
in  chronology,  but  in  structure :  that  is  most  archaic  which 
lies  nearest  to  the  beginning  of  human  progress  considered 
as  a  development,  and  that  is  most  modern  which  is  farthest 
removed  from  that  beginning."  ^ 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  career  of  progress 
has  been  neither  universal  nor  unbroken,  it  remains  entirely 
true  that  the  law  of  progress,  when  discovered,  will  be  found 
to  be  the  law  of  history.    The  great  fact  to  be  explained  is 

from  a  superhuman  instructor."  (!)  Whately's  Rhetoric,  p.  94.  A  statement 
uot  altogether  compatible  with  the  one  just  quoted  from  the  same  author  in 
Jie  texV. 

^  Ancient  Law,  p.  24 ;  cf.  Lewis,  Mdhods  of  Observation  in  Politics,  vol.  i 
p.  302. 

'  li'Lenmn,  Primitive  Marriage,  p.  9. 

o  2 


196  COSMIC  PBILOSOFHT.  [pt.  ii. 

either  fhe  presence  or  the  absence  of  progress.    And  when  we 
have  formulated  the  character  of  progress,  and  the  conditions 
essential  to  it,  we  have  the  key  to  the  history  of  the  stationary 
as  well  as  of  the  progressive  nations.     When  we  are  able  to 
show  why  the  latter  have  advanced,  the  same  general  principle 
will  enable  us  to  show  why  the  former  have  not  advanced. 
Though  in  biogeny  we  habitually  view  the  process  of  natural 
selection  as  the  process  whereby  higher  organisms  are  slowly 
originated,  the  principle  loses  none  of  its  importance  because 
sundry  species   from   time   to   time  suffer  deterioration,  or 
remain  stationary,  or  become  extinct.    When  we  know  how  it 
is  that  some  species  advance,  we  know  how  it  is  that  other 
species  do  not  advance.    So,  in  the  science  of  language,  which 
is  equally  with  sociogeny  a  science  of  development — being, 
indeed,  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  quite  special  province 
of  sociogeny — we  rightly  consider  the  main  problem  solved 
when  we  have  explained  the  process  of  phonetic  integration, 
by  which  languages  ascend  from  the  primary,  through  the 
secondary,  to  the  tertiary  stage  of  structure.     It  matters  not 
that  Chinese  remains  to  this  day  a  primary  language,  and 
that  the  numerical  majority  of  languages  have  not  yet  become 
tertiary  by  completely  fusing  together  the  component  roots 
of  their  words.     The  process  by  which  languages  pass  from  a 
lower  stage  to  a  higher  remains  none  the  less  the  fundamental 
phenomenon  to  be  investigated,  and  when  we  have  generalized 
the  conditions  under  which  this  process  takes  place,  we  can 
xplain  its  absence  as  well  as  its  presence.     Now  the  case  is 
the  same  with  progress  in  society,  that  it  is  with  progress 
in  language  or  in  organic  life.     Whether  manifested  or  not 
manifested  in   any  particular  community,  progress  is  still 
the  all-important  phenomenon  to  be  investigated.     It  is  the 
one  grand   phenomenon,  to   explain,  the  presence  and  the 
absence  of  which,  is  to  explain  the  phenomena  of  history 
Just  as  the  study  of  the  languages  which  have  advanced 
furnishes  us  the  key  for  understanding  those  which  have 


SH.  XV1II.1  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY.  197 

not  advanced,  so  the  study  of  the  progressive  communities 
furnishes  us,  as  we  shall  see,  the  law  of  history ;  a  law  which, 
in  its  most  general  expression,  covers  the  phenomena  pre- 
sented by  the  non-progressive  communities  likewise.  Ccmte 
was  therefore  right  in  restricting  the  main  current  of  his 
inquiry  to  the  course  of  that  civilization  which  began  on  the 
eastern  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  has  extended  o\'er 
Europe  and  a  portion  of  America.  The  same  plan  will  be 
pursued  in  the  present  chapter.  Although  incidental  con- 
firmation wiU  be  sought  in  the  history  of  the  stationary 
communities,  our  main  problem  will  be  to  fornmlate  the  law 
of  progress  from  a  comparison  of  the  phenomena  presented 
by  the  progressive  communities. 

But  before  we  can  fairly  enter  upon  our  task,  it  will  be 
d3sirable  for  us  to  note  the  Factors  of  Progress  with  which 
we  shall  chiefly  have  to  deal. 

The  prime  factors  in  social  progress  are  the  Community 
and  its  Environment.  The  environment  of  a  community 
comprises  all  the  circumstances,  adjacent  or  remote,  to  which 
the  community  may  be  in  any  way  obliged  to  conform  its 
actions.  It  comprises  not  only  the  climate  of  the  country, 
its  soil,  its  flora  and  fauna,  its  perpendicular  elevation,  its 
relation  to  mountain-chains,  the  length  of  its  coast-line,  the 
character  of  its  scenery,  and  its  geographical  position  with 
reference  to  other  countries ;  but  it  includes  also  the  ideas, 
feelings,  customSj  and  observances  of  past  times,  so  far  as 
they  are  preserved  by  literature,  traditions,  op  monuments ; 
as  well  as  foreign  contemporary  manners  and  opinions,  so  far 
as  they  are  known  and  regarded  by  the  community  in  ques- 
tion. Thus  defined,  the  environment  may  be  very  limited  or 
very  extensive.  The  environment  of  an  Eskimo  tribe  consists 
of  the  physical  circumstances  of  Labrador,  of  adjoining 
tribes,  of  a  few  traders  or  travellers,  and  of  the  sum-total  of 
the  traditions  received  from  ancestral  Eskimos.  These  make 
up  the  sum  of  the  conditions  affecting  the  social  existence  ol 


198  COSMIC  FHILOSOPRY,  [pt.  il 

tLe  Eskimos.  The  environment  of  the  United  States,  on  the 
other  haud,  while  it  comprises  the  physical  conditions  of  the 
North  American  continent,  comprises  also  all  contemporary 
nations  with  whom  we  have  intercourse,  and  all  the  organized 
tradition — political  and  ethical,  scientilic  and  religious — 
which  we  possess  in  common  with  all  the  other  commu 
nities  whose  civilization  originated  in  the  Eoman  Empire. 
The  significance  of  this  increase  of  size  and  diversity  in  the 
environment  will  be  explained  presently. 

Bearing  in  mind  this  definition  of  a  social  environment — 
which  I  believe  carries  with  it  its  own  justification — let  us 
briefly  notice  the  error  committed  by  those  writers  who  would 
fain  interpret  all  the  most  important  social  phenomena  as  due, 
solely  or  chiefly,  to  physical  causes.  This  is  an  error  fre- 
quently committed  by  physiologists  who  try  their  hand  at 
the  investigation  of  social  affairs,  and  who  attempt  to  treat 
sociology  as  if  it  were  a  mere  branch  of  biology.  But  this 
is  not  the  case.  As  we  have  seen  psychology  to  be  an  off- 
shoot from  biology,  specialized  by  the  introduction  of  in- 
quiries concerning  the  relations  of  the  percipient  mind  to  its 
environment;  we  must  similarly  regard  sociology  as  an  off- 
shoot from  psychology,  specialized  by  the  introduction  of 
inquiries  concerning  the  relations  of  many  percipient  and 
emotionally-incited  minds  to  each  other  and  to  their  common 
environment.  As  in  biogeny  all  attempts  to  discover  the  law 
of  organic  development  failed  utterly  so  long  as  the  relations 
of  the  organism  to  physical  environing  agencies  were  alone 
studied,  and  succeeded  only  when  Mr.  Darwin  took  into 
account  the  relations  of  organisms  to  each  other ;  so  still 
more  inevitably  in  sociogeuy  must  all  our  efforts  fail  so  long 
as  we  consider  merely  the  physiologic  relations  of  a  commu- 
nity to  the  country  in  which  it  dwells,  and  refuse  to  recognize 
the  extent  to  which  communities  influence  each  other  by 
means  that  are  purely  intellectual  or  moral.  Doubtless  the 
character  of  the  physical  environment  is  of  importance^  more 


m.  xviilJ  tee  J^ volution  of  society,  199 

especially,  perhaps,  in  the  earlier  stages  of  civilization.  "No 
doubt  civilization  will  first  arise,  other  things  equal,  in  a 
locality  where  ibod  and  shelter  can  be  obtained  with  a 
medium  amount  of  exertion  ;  where  natnre  is  neither  too 
niggard  nor  too  lavish  in  the  bestowal  of  her  favours.  No 
doubt  there  is  a  physical  significance  in  the  fact  that  civiliza- 
tion began,  not  in  barren  Siberia,  or  in  luxuriant  Brazil,  but 
in  countries  like  Egypt  and  ]\Iesopotamia,  which  were  neither 
60  barren  as  to  starve,  nor  so  luxuriant  as  to  spoil,  the 
laViourer.  No  doubt  the  Greeks  owed  much  to  the  extent  of 
their  coast-line.  No  doubt — above  all — the  Mediterranean  is 
justly  sacred  to  the  student  of  history  as  partly  the  civilizer 
of  the  peoples  who  upon  its  waves  first  courted  adventure, 
and  conducted  commerce,  and  imparted  to  each  other  cosmo- 
politan sympathies  which  could  never  have  been  evoked  but 
for  some  such  intercourse.  All  this  may  be  granted.  But  as 
civiHzation  advances,  the  organized  experience  of  past  gene- 
rations becomes  to  a  greater  and  greater  extent  the  all- 
important  factor  of  progress.  As  Comte  expresses  it,  in  one 
of  his  profoundest  aphorisms,  the  empire  of  the  dead  over 
the  living  increases  from  age  to  age.  If  we  contemplate, 
from  a  lofty  historical  point  of  view,  the  relative  importance 
of  the  factors  in  the  environment  of  our  United  States,  I 
believe  we  shall  be  forced  to  conclude  that  the  victory  of  the 
Greeks  at  Marathon,  the  conquest  of  Gaul  by  Cissar,  the 
founding  of  Christianity,  the  defeat  of  Attila  at  Chalons  and 
of  the  Arabs  at  Tours,  the  advent  of  the  Normans  in  England, 
the  ecclesiastic  reforms  of  Hildebrand,  the  Crusades,  the 
revolt  of  Luther,  the  overthrow  of  the  Spanish  Armada,  and 
the  achievements  of  scientific  inquirers  from  Arcliimedes  to 
Faraday,  have  influenced  and  are  influencing  our  social  con- 
dition to  a  far  greater  extent  than  the  direction  of  the  Eocky 
Mountains,  or  the  position  of  the  Great  Lakes  or  the  course 
v.f  the  Gulf  Stream.  Or  if  we  inquire  why  the  Spaniards 
are  btill  so  superstitious  and  bigoted,  I  believe  we  shall  find 


200  COSMIC  PBILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

little  enlightenment  in  the  fact  that  Spain  is  peculiarly 
subject  to  earthquakes,  but  much  enlightenment  in  the 
fact  that  for  eight  centuries  Spain  was  the  arena  of  a  life- 
and-death  struggle  between  orthodox  Christians  and  Moorish 
unbelievers. 

The  mention  of  Spain  and  earthquakes  brings  me  to  Mr. 
Buckle,  a  writer  of  marked  ability,  who,  though  he  did  not 
explicitly  countenance  the  error  I  am  here  criticizing,  was 
nevertheless  sometimes  betrayed  into  committing  it,  as  may 
be  seen  from  the  following  passage : — "  The  Arabs  in  their 
own  country  have,  owing  to  the  extreme  aridity  of  their  soil, 
always  been  a  rude  and  uncultivated  people ;  for  in  their  case, 
as  in  all  others,  great  ignorance  is  the  fruit  of  great  poverty. 
But  in  the  seventh  century  they  conquered  Persia  ;  in  the 
eighth  century  they  conquered  the  best  part  of  Spain  ;  in  the 
ninth  century  they  conquered  the  Punjab,  and  eventually 
nearly  the  whole  of  India.  Scarcely  were  they  established 
in  their  fresh  settlements,  when  their  character  seemed  to 
undergo  a  great  change.  They  who  in  their  original  land 
were  little  else  than  roving  savages,  were  now  for  the  first 
time  able  to  accumulate  wealth,  and,  therefore,  for  the  first 
'ime  did  they  make  some  progress  in  the  arts  of  civilization, 
tn  Arabia  they  had  been  a  mere  race  of  waudering  shepherds ; 
«n  their  new  abodes  they  became  the  founders  of  mighty 
empires,  —  they  built  cities,  endowed  schools,  collected 
libraries ;  and  the  traces  of  their  power  are  still  to  be  seen 
at  Cordova,  at  Bagdad,  and  at  Delhi."  ^  To  exhibit  the  utter 
superficiality  of  this  explanation,  we  have  only  to  ask  two 
questions.  First,  if  the  Arabs  became  civilized  only  because 
they  exchanged  their  native  deserts  for  Spain,  Persia  and 
India,  why  did  not  the  same  hold  true  of  the  Turks,  when 
they  exchanged  their  barren  steppes  for  the  rich  empire 
ot  Constantinople  ?  Though  they  have  held  for  four  cen- 
turies what  is  perhaps  the  finest  geographical  position  on  the 

*  History  of  Civilization,  voL  L  p.  42. 


CH.  xvm.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY.  201 

earth's  surface,  the  Turks  have  never  directly  aided  the 
progress  of  civilization.  Secondly,  how  was  it  that  the  Arabs 
ever  came  to  leave  their  native  deserts  and  to  couquer  the 
region  between  the  Pyrenees  and  the  Ganges  ?  Was  it 
because  of  a  geologic  convulsion  ?  "Was  it  because  the  soil, 
the  climate,  the  food,  or  the  general  aspect  of  nature,  had 
undergone  any  sudden  change  ?  One  need  not  be  a  profound 
btudent  of  history  to  see  the  absurdity  of  such  a  suggestion. 
It  was  because  their  minds  had  been  greatly  wrought  upon 
by  new  ideas  ;  because  their  conceptions  of  life,  its  duties, 
its  aims,  its  possibilities,  had  been  revolutionized  by  the 
genius  of  Mohammed.  The  whole  phenomenon  requires  a 
psychological,  not  a  physical,  explanation. 

The  environment  in  our  problem  must,  therefore,  not  only 
include  psychical  as  well  as  physical  factors,  but  the  former 
are  immeasurably  the  more  important  factors,  and  as  civiliza- 
tion advances  their  relative  importance  steadily  increases. 
Bearing  in  mind  these  preliminary  explanations,  let  us  now 
address  ourselves  to  the  problem  of  social  evolution,  applying 
to  the  solution  of  it  sundry  biological  principles  established 
in  previous  chapters.  We  have  first  to  observe  that  it  is  a 
corollary  from  the  law  of  use  and  disuse,  and  the  kindred 
biologic  laws  which  sum  up  the  processes  of  direct  and 
indirect  equilibration,  that  the  fundamental  characteristic  of 
social  progress  is  the  continuous  weakening  of  selfishness  and 
the  continuous  strengthening  of  syTnpathy.  Or — to  use  a  more 
convenient  and  somewhat  more  accurate  expression  suggested 
by  Comte — it  is  a  gradual  supplanting  of  egoism  by  altruism. 

In  the  course  ui"  our  inquiry  into  the  causes  of  organic 
evolution,  it  was  shown  that  all  the  processes  cooperating 
in  the  development  of  higher  from  lower  forms  of  life,  are 
in  the  widest  and  deepest  sense  processes  of  equilibration. 
The  all-important  truth  was  there  demonstrated,  that  the 
progress  of  life  on  the  earth  has  been  the  continuous  equilibra- 
1  See  above,  chapters  xii.  and  xiii. 


202  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

Hon  of  the  organism  with  its  environment.  Tn  the  mainten- 
ance of  such  an  equilibrium  life  has  been  shown  to  consist. 
Accordingly,  as  we  have  seen,  if  the  environment  is  suddenly 
and  violently  altered,  the  organism  perishes ;  but  when  it  is 
altered  slowly,  the  organism  slowly  adapts  itself  to  it.  If 
the  adaptation  is  not  completed  within  a  single  generation, 
nevertheless  a  sufficient  number  of  generations  will  com- 
plete it,  just  as  the  children  and  grandchildren  of  an  emi- 
grant become  more  and  more  thoroughly  acclimated  to  their 
new  home. 

It  is  now  to  be  shown  that  civilization  is  a  slow  process 
of  breeding,  of  adaptation,  of  acclimatization — mental  and 
moral,  as  well  as  physical, — of  equilibration  between  the 
Community  and  the  Environment.  From  age  to  age  the 
environment  is  slowly  but  incessantly  changing,  and  to  its 
gradual  changes  the  human  race,  embodied  in  communities, 
is  continually  adapting  itself.  As  just  observed,  I  am  not 
referring  to  the  physical  environment  alone  ;  for  in  dealing 
with  society  we  have  to  take  into  the  account  those  psycho- 
logical factors  which  have  been  shown  to  be  by  far  the  most 
considerable  of  all.  Leaving  out  of  the  account  all  minor 
considerations  of  climate,  food,  or  other  physical  circum- 
stances, and  looking  at  the  psychological  factors  alone,  we 
must  admit  that  the  environment  is  slowly  but  constantly 
changing.  Every  city  that  is  built,  every  generalization 
that  is  reached,  every  invention  that  is  made,  every  new 
principle  of  action  that  is  suggested,  alters  in  some  degree 
the  social  environment, — alters  the  sum-total  of  external 
relations  to  which  the  community  must  adjust  itself  by 
instituting  new  internal  relations.  The  entire  organized 
experience  of  each  generation,  so  far  as  it  is  perpetuated  by 
literature  or  oral  tradition,  adds  an  item  to  the  environment 
of  the  next  succeeding  generation ;  so  that  the  sum-total  of 
the  circumstances  to  which  each  generation  is  required  t« 
conform  itself,  is  somewhat  different  from  the  sum-total  of 


CH.  xvm.]  T/Ii;  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY,  203 

circn instances  to  wliich  the  immediately  preceding  genera- 
tion was  required  to  conform  itself.  Thus  the  community, 
by  the  inevitable  results  of  its  own  psychical  activity,  is 
continually  modifying  the  environment ;  and  to  the  environ- 
meiit,  as  thus  continually  modified,  the  community  must 
reciprocally  conform  itself. 

Now  in  the  primitive,  isolated,  savage  condition  of  man- 
kind, what  was  the  environment  of  each  family  or  petty 
tribe,  and  what  kind  of  emotional  activity  was  it  fitted  to 
awaken?  The  unanimous  testimony  of  scientific  explorers, 
and  others  who  have  carefully  studied  the  primitive  phases 
of  society,  leaves  us  in  little  doubt  as  to  this  question.  As 
Mr.  M'Lennan  concisely  expresses  it,  "  The  state  of  liostility 
is  the  normal  state  of  the  race  in  early  times."  ^  The  environ- 
ment of  each  little  tribe  is  a  congeries  of  neighbouring  hostile 
tribes;  and  the  necessity  of  escaping  captivity  or  death 
involves  continual  readiness  for  warfare,  and  the  continual 
manifestation  of  the  entire  class  of  warlike  unsocial  passions. 
While,  on  the  other  hand,  the  tribe  is  so  small  and  homo- 
geneous, that  the  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  sympathetic 
and  social  feelings  is  confined  chiefly  to  the  conjugal  and 
parental  relations.  Nevertheless  in  the  exercise  of  these  feelings 
in  these  relations  are  contained  the  germs  of  all  subsequent  social 
progress.  While  without  the  limited  sphere  of  the  tribe  all 
is  hatred,  revenge,  and  desire  "to  domineer,  within  the  limits 
of  the  tribe  there  is  room  for  the  rudimentary  display  of 
such  feelings  as  loyalty,  gratitude,  equity,  family  affection, 
personal  friendship,  and  regard  for  the  claims  of  others. 
Since  these  feelings  can  be  exercised  only  within  family  or 
tribal  limits,  it  follows  that  the  sphere  for  their  exercise  is 
relatively  small ;  while  as  the  hostile  or  egoistic  feelings 
are  conformed  to  the  whole  environment  outside  of  the  tribe, 
it  follows  that  the  sphere  for  their  exercise  is  large.  Hence, 
in  this  primitive  state  of  society,  the  egoistic  feelings,  being 

*•  Primitivi,  Marriage,  p.  134. 


f04  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  n. 

oftenest  called  into  play  in  the  habitual  occupations  of  life, 
will  be  most  active  and  will  overbalance  the  altruistic  feel- 
ings. While,  on  the  other  hand,  as  the  kindlier  sympathies 
are  but  nascent,  even  the  altruistic  feelings,  such  as  they  are, 
will  be  strongly  tinged  with  egoism.  The  highest  emotion 
attainable  will  be  clannishness,  and  the  highest  rule  of  duty 
will  be  that  which  enjoins  loyalty  to  the  tribal  patriarch. 
This  is  actually  found  to  be  the  emotional  and  ethical  condi- 
tion of  primitively  organized  communities,  wherever  they 
have  been  attentively  studied  by  competent  observers.  Such, 
for  example,  has  been  tbe  state  of  things  existing  from  time 
immemorial  among  the  American  Indians,  among  the  Poly- 
nesians, and  among  the  Arabs  of  the  desert ;  and  these 
aspects  of  clan-society,  in  a  somewhat  later  stage,  among  the 
Scottish  Highlanders,  are  well  pourtrayed  in  several  of  the 
Waverley  Novels. 

Now  what  is  it  that  chiefly  determines  the  slow  develop 
ment  of  the  altruistic  feelings  and  the  gradual  atrophy  of  the 
egoistic  feelings  ?  Obviously  it  is  the  growth  of  the  commu- 
nity in  size  and  complexity, — the  gradual  enlargement  of  the 
area  over  which  the  altruistic  feelings  extend,  and  the  gradual 
;ncrease  in  the  number  of  social  situations  which  demand 
the  exercise  of  those  feelings.  These  conditions  are  partly 
fulfilled  when  the  tribal  community  grows  to  a  vast  size, 
remaining  structurally  a  tribe  with  a  patriarchal  head, — as 
was  the  case  in  ancient  Egypt,  Assyria,  Persia  and  India,  and 
as  is  still  the  case  in  China.  But  they  are  still  better  fulfilled 
when  the  community  increases  in  the  complexity  of  its 
internal  relations,  and,  instead  of  remaining  a  tribe,  becomes 
it,  federation  of  civic  bodies,  as  in  ancient  Greece,  or  a  single 
great  civic  body,  uniting  various  tribal  elements,  as  in  ancient 
Home.  In  each  of  these  cases,  the  increased  power  of  self, 
protection  renders  warfare  less  necessary  and  frequent,  and 
the  partial  supplanting  of  the  primitive  predatory  life  by  the 
occupations  of   agriculture  and  trade  begins  to  make  men 


«H.  XVIII.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY.  205 

more  and  more  dependent  on  one  another  over  a  wider  and 
wider  area,  and  to  create  a  whole  class  of  interests  to  which 
warfare  and  destnictiveness  are  more  and  more  inimical. 
And  in  the  latter  case,  where  the  community  assumes  a  civic 
character,  the  rise  of  a  genuine  political  life  begins  to  make 
men  operate  on  each  other  by  indirect  compulsion,  or  by 
persuasion,  rather  than  by  direct  and  brutal  compulsion;  and 
^he  )iighest  attainable  ethical  feeling  is  no  longer  clannishness. 
but  patriotism,  in  the  exalted  sense  in  which  that  word  was 
understood  by  the  Greeks  and  Eomans.  Note  also  that  under 
the  influence  of  this  high  ethical  feeling,  even  military  life 
loses  its  primitive  purely  egoistic  character,  and  becomes  a 
school  of  self-discipline  and  self-sacrifice,  nourishing  in  no 
slight  degree  the  altruistic  feelings.  If  we  compare  the  cam- 
paigns of  Marathon  and  Thermopylai  with  the  expedition  of 
a  band  of  Highlanders  in  execution  of  a  blood-feud,  or 
with  the  excursion  of  a  party  of  Eed  Indians  on  the  war- 
path, we  shall  find  no  difficulty  in  realizing  the  force  of  these 
considerations. 

But,  like  other  phenomena  in  nature,  our  ethical  feelings 
are  not  sharply  marked  off  from  each  other.  There  is  a 
selfish  as  well  as  a  sympathetic  side  to  patriotism  (under- 
standing the  word  always  as  the  Greeks  and  Eomans  under- 
stood it.)  At  the  one  extreme,  patriotism  is  akin  to 
clannishness ;  at  the  other  extreme,  it  becomes  so  wide  as 
to  resemble  cosmopolitanism.  As  long  as  the  purely  civic 
structure  of  society  lasted,  the  clannish  element  was  dis- 
tinctly present  in  patriotism.  Greek  history,  after  the 
expulsion  of  the  Persians,  is  the  history  of  the  struggle 
between  the  higher  and  the  lower  patriotism, — between  the 
two  feelings  known  to  the  Greeks  as  Pan-IIellenism  and 
Autonomism,  represented  respectively  by  Athens  and  by 
the  Doric  communities.  The  mournful  history  of  Thuky- 
dides  tells  us  how  autonomism  won  the  day,  entailing  th« 
moral  and  political  failure  of  Greek  civilization. 


208  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [ft.  ii. 

But  wlien  Ptome  liad  extended  her  "beneficent  sway  over 
all  the  precincts  of  the  ]\Iediterranean,  nniting  communities 
hitherto  autonomous  and  hostile  by  common  interests  of 
culture  and  of  commerce,  and  bringing  aggressive  warfare  to  an 
end  in  the  Pax  Romana,  then  there  became  possible  a  cosmo- 
politan spirit,  a  Christian  feeling,  which  regarded  all  men  as 
legally  and  ethically  equal, — equal  before  the  Emperor,  and 
equal  before  God.  To  trace  the  slow  growth  of  this  feeling 
in  the  annals  of  Eoman  law  and  of  Stoic  philosophy,  and 
to  observe  its  culmination  in  the  genesis  of  Christianity,^  is 
to  obtain  the  key  to  Eoman  history. 

But  great  political  changes  were  necessary  before  Eome 
could  carry  to  the  end  its  great  work, — partly  because  it  had 
increased  in  size  so  much  faster  than  it  increased  in  structure. 
It  crushed  autonomism  too  rapidly.  It  developed  imperialism 
at  the  expense  of  nationality.  And  hence  the  time  at  last 
arrived  when  the  mutual  cohesion  of  its  provinces  became 
too  slight  to  withstand  those  barbaric  assaults  from  without, 
which — as  we  should  be  careful  to  remember — had  all  along 
been  intermittently  attempted  from  the  days  of  Brennus  to 
those  of  Alaric.  For  a  time,  European  society  seemed  likely 
to  disintegrate  into  a  set  of  tribal  communities.  But  the  old 
Empire  had  done  its  work  too  thoroughly  for  that.  Eoman 
principles,  embodied  in  the  Catholic  Church,  and  in  the 
renovated  Empire  of  Charles  the  Great,  exerted  an  organizing 
power  which  prevailed  over  the  spirit  of  clannish  isolation, 
and  by  effecting  the  grand  series  of  compromises  which  we 
vaguely  designate  as  the  feudal  system,  laid  the  basis  of 
modern  society. 

If  now  we  examine  the  ethical  circumstances  of  that  vast 
modern  fabric  which  has  been  reared  upon  material  supplied 

*  Of  course  it  is  not  meant  to  imply  that  other  elements  were  not  at  work 
in  the  genesis  of  Christianity.  The  growth  of  what  Matthew  Arnold  calls 
the  "spirit  of  Hebraism,"  not  in  Judaea  merely,  but  throughout  the  Grseco- 
Romau  world,  is  an  interesting  phenomenon  in  this  connection,  but  tte 
tieatmeut  of  ii  does  not  fall  within  the  scope  of  the  present  exposition. 


CH.  XVIII,]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY.  807 

(n  the  older  days  of  Eome — and  which  owes  so  much  of  its 
permanent  character  to  the  labours  of  the  great  Catholic  and 
Imperial  statesmen  of  the  Middle  Ages — we  shall  find  that 
the  process  here  described  has  been  continually  going  on. 
For  the  primitive  normal  state  of  warfare  there  has  been 
gradually  substituted  a  normal  state  of  peace.  While  in 
primitive  times  the  interests  of  men  were  supposed  to  coin- 
cide only  throughout  the  limited  area  of  a  petty  clan,  they 
are  now  seen  to  coincide  throughout  vast  areas,  and  the 
railway,  the  steamship,  and  the  telegraph  are  daily  bringing 
communities  into  closer  union,  and,  as  George  Eliot  well 
expresses  it,  "making  self-interest  a  duct  for  sympathy." 
The  spirit  of  Christianity,  first  rendered  possible  by  Eoman 
cosmopolitanism,  has  made,  and  is  ever  making,  wider  and 
deeper  conquests  as  civilization  advances.  By  the  primitive 
savage  moral  duties  were  imperfectly  recognized,  but  only 
within  the  limits  of  the  clan.  By  the  Greek  the  ethical 
code  was  enlarged,  but  it  was  a  code  not  applicable  to  bar- 
barians. The  mediaeval  Christian  had  a  still  longer  list  of 
duties  owed  by  him  to  all  mankind,  his  brethren  in  the 
sight  of  God ;  and  to  the  ancient  conception  of  justice  thus 
materially  widened,  he  added,  in  elementary  shape,  the  con- 
ception of  benevolence  or  the  "  enthusiasm  of  humanity ; " 
but  the  familiar  maxim  that  "  no  faith  need  be  kept  with 
heretics  "  shows  that  even  to  his  conception  of  duty  there 
were  practical  limits  narrower  than  would  now  be  admitted. 
The  modern,  on  the  other  hand,  recognizes  that  he  owes  cer- 
tain duties  to  all  men  with  whom  he  may  be  brought  into 
contact,  not  because  they  are  his  kindred,  or  his  neighbours, 
T  nis  countrymen,  or  his  fellow-Christians,  but  because  they 
are  his  fellow-men.  Such  is  our  ethical  standard,  however 
imperfectly  conformed  to ;  and  neither  ancient  nor  mediasval 
had  such  an  ethical  standard.  Compare  also  the  ideal  types  of 
perfect  manhood  at  the  two  extremes  of  civilization  within  our 
ken.     The  primitive  type  is  the  man  of  intense  personality, 


208  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt,  u 

with  an  euormous  sense  of  his  own  importance,  easily  roused 
to  paroxysms  of  anger,  brooking  no  contradiction,  disregardful 
of  the  feelings  of  others,  domineering  over  all  within  his 
reach.  The  modern  type  is  the  man  of  mild  personality, 
shunning  the  appearance  of  self-assertion,  slow  to  anger, 
patient  of  contradiction,  mindful  of  the  feelings  of  those 
about  him,  unwilling  to  "  make  trouble."  Such  is  the  con- 
trast between  the  typical  ancient  and  the  typical  modern ; 
and  it  implies  a  prodigious  alteration  in  the  dominant  ethical 
feelings  of  the  progressive  portion  of  our  race. 

This  change,  as  we  now  see,  has  been  wrought  by  the  slow 
but  incessant  modification  of  the  social  environment  to  which 
each  generation  of  men  has  had  to  conform  its  actions.  The 
altruistic  feelings,  finding  at  each  successive  epoch  a  wider 
scope  for  action,  have  become  gradually  strengthened  by  use; 
while  the  egoistic  feelings,  being  less  and  less  imperatively 
called  into  play,  have  become  gradually  weakened  by  disuse. 
And  this  change  in  the  environment  we  perceive  to  have 
been  wrought  by  the  continuous  growth  of  the  community 
in  size  and  complexity.  Wliere,  as  among  stationary  tribes 
of  savages,  there  has  been  no  such  growth,  there  the  moral 
type  of  the  primeval  man  is  still  to  be  found ;  and  where, 
as  among  the  stationary  communities  of  Asia,  there  has  been 
growth  in  size  without  corresponding  growth  in  complexity, 
there  the  moral  type  is  intermediate  between  that  of  the 
barbarian  and  that  of  the  inheritor  of  Eoman  civilization. 
Thus  the  progress  of  society  is  a  mighty  process  of  equili- 
bration or  adjustment,  in  the  course  of  which  men's  rules  oi 
action  and  emotional  incentives  to  action  become  ever  more 
and  more  perfectly  fitted  to  the  requirements  arising  from 
the  circumstance  of  their  aggregation  into  communities. 

Here  we  have  arrived  at  a  rudimentary  conception  of  the 
law  of  social  progress,  so  far  as  it  can  be  obtained  from  a 
comprehensive  historical  induction,  aided  and  verified  by 
deduction  from  a  few  fundamental  truths  of  biology.     Th« 


■n,  xvm.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY,  209 

foregoing  discussion  has  bronglit  out  one  point  of  funda- 
mental importance,  in  which  the  development  of  social  life 
agrees  with  the  development  of  organic  life  :  both  are  con- 
tinuous processes  of  adjustment  or  equilibration.  But  in  all 
this  there  is  nothing  more  than  might  have  been  anticipated. 
Since  the  phenomena  of  society  are  really  but  the  phe- 
nomena of  life,  specialized  by  the  addition  of  new  groups  of 
circumstances  ;  we  must  expect  to  find  that  the  law  of  social 
evolution  will  be  identical  with  the  law  of  organic  evolution, 
save  only  that  it  will  require  an  all-important  additional 
clause  to  express  the  results  of  the  action  of  the  superadded 
circumstances.  Let  us  then  seek  to  ascertain  definitely, — 
first,  in  what  respects  the  two  kinds  of  evolution  agree,  and 
secondly,  in  what  respects  they  differ. 

In  the  first  place  the  evolution  of  society,  no  less  than  the 
evolution  of  life,  conforms  to  that  universal  law  of  evolution 
discovered  by  Mr.  Spencer,  and  illustrated  at  length  in  earlier 
chapters.  The  brief  survey  just  taken  shows  us  that  social 
progress  consists  primarily  in  the  integration  of  small  and 
simple  communities  into  larger  communities  that  are  of  higher 
and  higher  orders  of  composition ;  and  in  the  more  and  more 
complete  subordination  of  the  psychical  forces  which  tend  to 
maintain  isolation,  to  the  psychical  forces  which  tend  to  main- 
tain aggregation.  In  these  respects  the  prime  features  of  social 
progress  are  the  prime  features  of  evolution  in  general. 

In  the  second  place,  tlie  progress  of  society  exhibits  those 
secondary  features  of  differentiation  and  integration  which 
evolution  universally  exhibits.  The  advance  from  indefinite 
.omogeneity  to  definite  heterogeneity  in  structure  and 
function  is  a  leading  characteristic  of  social  progress.  On 
considering  primitive  societies,  we  find  them  affected  by  no 
lauses  of  heterogeneity  except  those  resulting  from  the 
establishment  of  the  various  family  relationships.  As  Sir 
3enry  Maine  has  shown,  in  early  times  the  family  and  not 
nhe  individual  was  the  social  unit.     In  the  absence  of  any- 

voL.  n  p 


flO  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

thing  like  national  or  even  civic  organization,  each  family 
chief  was  a  monarch  in  miniature,  uniting  in  his  own  person 
the  functions  of  king,  priest,  judge,  and  parliament ;  yet  he 
was  scarcely  less  a  digger  and  hewer  than  his  subject  children, 
wives,  and  brethren.  Commercially,  it  is  needless  to  say,  all 
primitive  communities  are  homogeneous.  In  any  barbarous 
tribe  the  number  of  different  employments  is  very  limited, 
and  such  as  there  are  may  be  undertaken  indiscriminately 
by  everyone.  Every  man  is  his  own  butcher  and  baker,  his 
own  tailor  and  carpenter,  his  own  smith,  and  his  own  weapon 
maker.  Now  the  progress  of  such  a  society  toward  a  civi- 
lized condition  begins  with  the  differentiation  and  integration 
of  productive  occupations.  That  each  specialization  of  labour 
entails  increased  efficiency  of  production,  which  reacting 
brings  out  still  greater  specialization,  is  known  to  every  tyro 
in  political  economy.  Nor  is  it  less  obvious  that,  with  the 
advance  of  civilization,  labour  has  been  steadily  increasing 
in  coherent  heterogeneity,  not  only  with  regard  to  its  division 
%mong  different  sets  of  mutually-dependent  labourers,  but 
also  with  regard  to  its  processes,  and  even  its  instruments. 
The  distinguishing  characteristic  of  modern  machinery,  as 
compared  with  the  rude  tools  of  the  Middle  Ages  or  the 
clumsy  apparatus  of  the  ancients,  is  its  definite  heterogeneity. 
The  contrast  between  the  steam-engine  of  to-day  and  the 
pulleys,  screws,  and  levers  of  a  thousand  years  ago  assures  us 
that  the  growing  complexity  of  the  objects  which  labour  aims 
at  is  paralleled  by  the  growing  complexity  of  the  modes  of 
attaining  them.  Turning  to  government,  we  see  that  by  dif- 
ferentiation in  the  primeval  community  some  families  acquired 
supreme  power,  while  others  sank,  though  in  different  degrees, 
to  the  rank  of  subjects.  The  integration  of  allied  families  into 
tribes,  and  of  adjacent  tribes  into  nations,  as  well  as  that  kind 
of  integra.tion  exhibited  at  a  later  date  in  the  closely-knit 
diplomatic  inter-relations  of  different  countries,  are  marked 
steps  m  social  progress.     Next  may  be  mentioned  the  differ* 


en.  XVIII.]  TEE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY,  211 

entiation  of  the  governing  power  into  the  civil  and  the  eccle- 
siastical; while  by  the  side  of  these  ceremonial  government 
grows  up  insensibly  as  a  third  power,  regulating  the  minor 
details  of  social  intercourse  none  the  less  potently  because 
not  embodied  in  statutes  and  edicts.  Comparing  the  priests 
and  augurs  of  antiquity  with  the  dignitaries  of  the  mediaeval 
Church,  the  much  greater  heterogeneity  of  the  latter  system 
becomes  manifest.  Civil  government  likewise  has  become 
differentiated  into  executive,  legislative,  and  judicial.  Exe- 
cutive government  has  been  divided  into  many  branches,  and 
diversely  in  different  nations.  A  comparison  of  the  Athenian 
popular  government  with  the  representative  systems  o:'  the 
present  day  shows  that  the  legislative  function  has  no  more 
tlian  any  of  the  others  preserved  its  original  homogeneity. 
While  the  contrast  between  the  Aula  Regis  of  the  Norman 
kings  and  the  courts  of  common  law,  equity,  and  admiralty, 
— county  courts,  queen's  courts,  state  courts,  and  federal 
courts, — which  are  lineally  descended  from  it,  tells  us  the 
same  story  concerning  the  judicial  power.  ISTor  should  it  be 
forgotten  that  the  steady  expansion  of  legal  systems,  to  meet 
the  exigencies  which  civilization  renders  daily  more  complex, 
is  an  advance  from  relatively  indefinite  homogeneity  to 
rela!;ively  definite  heterogeneity. 

Obviously,  however,  our  task  is  not  completed  when  we 
have  pointed  out  this  general  coincidence  between  the 
development  of  society  and  the  development  of  life.  Nor 
can  the  universal  law  here  illustrated  be  the  special  law  of 
social  progress  for  which  we  are  seeking.  By  reason  of  its 
very  comprehensiveness,  the  law  of  universal  evolution 
cannot  be  regarded  as  supplying  the  precise  kind  of  in- 
formation we  desire  concerning  the  relations  of  social  to 
vrganic  phenomena.  By  its  aid  we  have  found  it  possible 
to  interpret  not  only  the  development  of  life,  intelligence, 
and  society,  but  also  the  genesis  of  planetary  systems  and 
he  evolution  of  the  earth.     It  is  therefore  the  law  not  only 

P  2 


212  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [n.  n. 

of  social,  psychical,  and  vital  changes,  hut  also  of  inorganic 
changes.  Underlying  all  the  sciences  of  genesis,  and  fusing 
them  into  one  grand  science  of  cosmogony,  it  utters  no  truth 
concerning  organic  or  social  development  which  is  not  equally 
true  of  all  development.  Thus  while  it  is  indeed,  in  the 
deepest  sense,  the  ultimate  law  to  which  organic  and  super- 
organic  changes  conform,  it  is  silent  respecting  the  differential 
characteristics  by  which  these  changes  are  distinguished  from 
inorganic  changes.  Already  in  treating  of  the  evolution  of 
life  we  saw  that  the  ultimate  and  general  formula  needed  to 
be  supplemented  by  a  derivative  and  special  formula,  which 
should  describe  organic  development  in  terms  inapplicable  to 
inorganic  phenomena.  And  this  formula  we  found  in  the 
definition  of  life  as  the  continuous  adjustment  of  inner  to 
outer  relations,  upon  which  also  was  afterwards  based  our 
entire  theory  of  the  evolution  of  intelligence. 

Now  the  historic  surve}'  into  which  we  were  led  a  moment 
ago,  while  inquiring  into  the  progress  of  moral  feelings, 
showed  us  that,  in  this  respect  also,  the  evolution  of  society 
agrees  with  the  evolution  of  life  in  general.  The  progress  of 
a  community,  as  of  an  organism,  is  a  process  of  adaptation, 
— a  continuous  establishment  of  inner  relations  in  con- 
formity to  outer  relations.  If  we  contemplate  material  civi- 
lization under  its  widest  aspect,  we  discover  its  legitimate 
aim  to  be  the  attainment  and  maintenance  of  an  equilibrium 
between  the  wants  of  men  and  the  outward  means  of  satis- 
fying them.  And  while  approaching  this  goal,  society  is 
ever  acquiring  in  its  economic  structure  both  greater  hetero- 
geneity and  greater  specialization.  It  is  not  only  that  agri- 
culture, manufactures,  commerce,  legislation,  the  acts  of  the 
ruler,  the  judge,  and  the  physician,  have  since  ancient  times 
grown  immeasurably  multiform,  both  in  their  processes  and 
in  their  appliances  ;  but  it  is  also  that  this  specialization  has 
resulted  in  the  greatly  increased  ability  of  society  to  adapt 
itself  to  the  emergencies  by  which  it  is  ever  beset.     The 


CH.  XVIII.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY.  213 

history  of  scientific  progress  is  in  like  manner  the  history  of 
an  advance  from  a  less  complete  toward  a  more  complete 
correspondence  between  the  order  of  our  conceptions  and  the 
order  of  phenomena.  Truth — the  end  of  all  honest  and 
successful  research — is  attained  when  subjective  relations 
are  adjusted  to  objective  relations.  And  what  is  the  con- 
summation of  moral  progress  but  the  thorough  adaptation 
of  the  desires  of  each  individual  to  the  requirements  arising 
from  the  coexistent  desires  of  all  neighbouring  individuals  ? 
Thus  the  plienomena  of  social  and  of  organic  progress  are 
seen  to  correspond  to  a  degree  not  contemplated  by  those 
thinkers  who,  from  Plato  to  Hobbes,  have  instituted  a  com- 
parison between  them.  The  dominant  characteristics  of  all 
life  are  those  in  which  social  and  individual  life  agree. 

Let  us  now  examine  more  closely  the  relations  between 
the  Community  and  the  Environment.  From  the  twofold 
circumstance  that  life  is  high  according  as  the  organism  ig 
heterogeneous,  and  also  according  as  it  is  adjusted  to  sur- 
rounding conditions,  may  be  derived  the  corollary  that  the 
heterogeneity  of  the  environment  is  the  chief  2^roximate  deter- 
mining cause  of  social  ]}rogress.  Thus  we  may  imderstand 
why  civilization  advances  so  much  more  rapidly  in  modern 
than  it  did  in  ancient  times.^  As  Sir  Charles  Lyell  observes; 
"  We  see  in  our  own  times  that  tlie  rate  of  progress  in  the 
arts  and  sciences  proceeds  in  a  geometrical  ratio  as  know- 
ledge increases,  and  so,  when  we  carry  back  our  retrospect 
into  the  past,  we  must  be  prepared  to  find  the  signs  of  re- 
tardation augmenting  in  a  like  geometrical  ratio ;  so  that  the 
Drogress  of  a  thousand  years  at  a  remote  period  may  cor- 
respond to  that  of  a  century  in  modern  times,  and  in  ages 
still  more  remote  ]\Ian  would  more  and  more  resemble  the 
brutes  in  that  attribute  which  causes  one  generation  exactly 
to  imitate  in  all  its  ways  the  generation  which  pieceded 
it"'     That  the  process  is  here  the  same  in  social  and  in 

*  See  above,  p.  72.  •  Antiquity  of  Man,  p.  377. 


814  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [n.  Ii. 

organic  life,  Sir  Charles  Lyell  already  suspects ;  for  he  else- 
where observes  that  the  lower  the  place  of  organic  beings 
"  in  a  graduated  scale,  or  the  simpler  their  structure,  the 
more  persistent  are  they  in  form  and  organization.  In  what- 
ever manner  the  changes  have  been  brought  about,  the  rate 
of  change  is  greater  where  the  grade  oi  organization  is 
higher."  And  this  fact  results  from  the  more  complex  rela- 
tions of  the  higher  beings  to  their  environment.  Applying 
these  considerations  to  history,  it  will  be  seen  that,  owing  to 
the  political  isolation  of  ancient  communities,  the  hetero- 
geneity of  their  environments  must  have  been  inconsiderable. 
Holding  little  intercourse  with  each  other,  and  accommo- 
dating their  deeds  and  opinions  mostly  to  the  conditions 
existing  at  home,  their  progress  was  usually  feeble  and  halt- 
ing. Owing  to  the  enormous  heterogeneity  of  the  environ- 
ment to  which  modern  communities  are  forced  to  adjust 
themselves,  progress  in  later  ages  has  been  far  more  rapid 
and  far  more  stable  than  of  old.  The  physical  well-being 
of  an  ancient  Greek  was  not  enhanced  by  an  invention  made 
in  China,  nor  could  his  philosophy  derive  useful  hints  from 
theories  propounded  in  India.  But  in  these  days  scarcely 
anything  can  happen  in  one  part  of  our  planet  which  does 
not  speedily  affect  every  other  part.  The  physical  environ- 
ment of  a  modern  European  extends  over  a  great  part  of  the 
earth's  surface,  and  his  psychical  environment  is  scarcely 
limited  in  time  or  space.  His  welfare  is  not  unfrequently 
affected  by  accidents  occurring  at  the  antipodes,  while  his 
plans  for  the  coming  year  are  often  shaped  with  conscious  or 
unconscious  reference  to  events  which  happened  centuries 
ago.  That  the  rapid  and  permanent  character  of  modern 
progress  is  in  great  measure  due  to  this  circumstance,  will  be 
denied  by  no  one.  And  thus  is  explained  the  wonderful 
civilizing  effect  of  various  events  which  have  from  time  to 
time  brought  together  distant  sections  of  mankind ;  among 
which  it  will  be  sufficient  merely  to  name  the  campaigns  oi 


•H.  xviii.]  TEE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY,  215 

Alexander,  the  spread  of  Eoman  dominion,  the  Arahiau  eon- 
quests,  the  Crusades,  and  the  voyages  of  Columbus,  Magellan, 
and  De  Gama.  The  invention  of  printing,  increasing  the 
rapidity  and  the  frequency  with  which  the  thoughts  of 
various  minds  are  brought  into  contact,  offers  another  illus- 
tration ;  and  in  a  similar  way  is  to  be  explained  the  civilizing 
agency  of  railroads  and  telegraphs. 

Comparing  these  deductions  with  the  historical  survey  of 
ethical  development  above  taken,  we  arrive  at  a  set  of 
mutually  harmonious  conclusions.  We  see  that  the  process 
of  intellectual  and  moral  adaptation  which  constitutes  social 
progress  is  determined  by  the  steadily  increasing  hetero- 
geneity of  the  social  environment.  And  we  see  that  this 
increased  heterogeneity  of  the  environment  is  caused  by  the 
integration  or  growing  interdependence  of  communities  that 
were  originally  isolated.  We  have  now  to  examine  this 
process  of  integration  somewhat  more  in  detail.  By  insti- 
tuting a  novel  comparison  between  the  processes  of  organic 
and  of  social  life,  we  shall  be  led  directly  to  the  special  law 
of  progress  for  wliich  we  are  seeking. 

Observe  first  that  the  living  beings  which  are  lowest,  or 
next  to  the  lowest,  in  the  scale  of  organization — as,  for 
example,  the  protococcus  and  the  amoeba — are  nothing  but 
simple  cells.  It  has  been  shown,  by  Mr.  Spencer,  that 
progress  in  morphological  composition,  both  in  the  animal 
and  in  the  vegetable  kingdoms,  consists  primarily  in  the 
union  of  these  simple  cells  into  aggregates  of  higher  and 
higher  orders  of  complexity.  Now  in  the  study  of  social 
evolution  we  are  met  by  precisely  similar  phenomena.  Let 
us  consider  what  is  implied  by  the  conclusions  at  which 
Sir  Henry  Maine  has  arrived,  in  his  profound  treatise  on 
"Ancient  Law,"  by  an  elaborate  inquiry  into  early  ideas 
of  property,  contract,  and  testamentary  succession,  and  into 
primitive  criminal  legislation.  "  Society  in  ancient  times," 
says  Sir  Heniy  Maine,  "  was  not  what  it  is  assumed  to  be 


S16  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.  n. 

at  present,  a  collection  of  individuals.  In  fact,  and  in  the 
view  of  tlie  men  who  composed  it,  it  was  an  aggregation  of 
families.  The  contrast  may  be  most  forcibly  expressed  by 
saying  that  the  unit  of  an  ancient  society  was  the  family, 
of  a  modern  society  the  individual"  ^  But  originally  the 
family-government  excluded  not  only  individual  indepen- 
dence, but  also  state  supremacy.  The  sole  government 
actual  or  possible  was  that  exercised  by  the  male  head  of  a 
family-group.  By  slow  stages  various  family-groups  closely 
akhi  in  blood  appear  to  have  become  integrated  into  tribes 
or  clans,  community  of  descent  being  still  the  only  con- 
ceivable bond  which  could  hold  together  a  number  of  indi- 
viduals in  the  same  political  aggregate.  At  a  later  stage 
the  limits  of  the  tribe  were  further  enlarged  by  the  impor- 
tant legal  fiction  of  "  adoption,"  or  the  pretence  that  newly- 
added  members  were  descended  from  some  conspicuous 
common  ancestor  of  the  tribe.  Vestiges  of  a  time  when 
there  were  no  aggregations  of  men  more  extensive  than  the 
tribal  community  thus  constituted,  and  when  there  was  no 
sovereign  authority  save  that  exercised  by  the  head  of  the 
tribe,  may  be  found  in  every  part  of  the  world,^  and  among 
totally-savage  races  this  state  of  things  still  continues.  Now 
we  shall  find  something  more  than  an  instructive  analogy  in 
the  comparison  of  the  primitive  family-group  to  a  unicellular 
organism,  for  such  a  comparison  will  enable  us  to  realize 
that  in  social  and  in  organic  evolution  the  process  of  integra- 
tion has  been  substantially  the  same.  The  first  well-marked 
stage  in  coalescence  is  the  formation  of  the  tribe  or  clan, 

^  Ancient  Law,  p.  126. 

•  "  The  yivos  of  Athens,  the  gens  of  Eome,  the  mark  or  gcmcinde  of  the 
Teutonic  nations,  the  village  community  of  the  East  .  .  .  the  Irish  clan,  are 
all  essentially  the  same  thing  " — Freeman,  Comparative  Politics,  p.  102, 

See,  among  other  authorities,  Volney's  View  of  the  United  States,  p.  397 ; 
Phillipp  on  Jurisprvdence,  p.  207  ;  Charles  Comte,  Traite  de  Legislation, 
Uv,  iii.,  chap.  28  ;  Grote,  History  of  Greece,  vol.  iii.,  pp.  49 — 69  ;  Gibbon 
(Paris  edit.),  vol.  iii.,  p.  243  ;  Vico,  Scienza  Nuova,  Opere,  tom.  iv.,  pp.  23, 
S5,  40  ;  Aristotle^  Eth.  Nikom.  viu.  14 ;  Tacitua,  Gcrmania,  vii. ;  Ctesar, 
Bell.  Gall.  vL  22,  23. 


CH.  XVIII.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY,  217 

whicli  may  be  compared  to  those  lowly  organisms  made  up 
by  the  union  of  amoeba-like  units  with  but  little  specializa- 
tion of  structure  or  function.  At  this  stage  social  organi- 
zation is  but  one  step  removed  from  that  absolute  and 
ferocious  anarchy  which  characterizes  the  non-social  life  of 
brutes.  "  Mistrust,  jealousy,  secret  ambushes,  and  implacable 
vengeances  "  characterize  the  mutual  relations  of  these  social 
"  aggregates  of  the  first  order."  Hostility  iz  the  rule,  and 
peace  the  exception.  The  repulsive  forces  are  stronger  and 
the  cohesive  forces  weaker  than  at  any  subsequent  period. 
Aa  we  have  seen  above,  the  selfish  impulses  which  tend  to 
maintain  savage  isolation  are  as  yet  unchecked  save  by 
instinctive  loyalty  within  the  tribal  limits. 

The  coalescence  of  such  tribes  into  civic  communities  is 
the  formation  of  social  "  aggregates  of  the  second  order." 
Tor  a  long  time  these  higher  aggregates  retain  conspicuous 
traces  of  their  mode  of  composition,  as  in  Greece  and  Kome,^ 
until  increasing  social  heterogeneity  obliterates  the  original 
lines  of  demarcation ;  while  new  divisions  spring  up,  result- 
ing from  the  integration  of  like  parts,  as  is  seen  in  the  guilds 
of  mediseval  Europe,  and  still  better  in  the  localization  of 
industries  which  marks  the  present  time. 

The  coalescence  of  civic  and  tribal  communities  into  the 
nation — an  "  aggregate  of  the  third  order  " — is  well  exem- 
plified in  the  history  of  France,  which,  from  a  disorderly 
collection  of  independent  baronies,  has  passed  by  weU- 
defined  transitions  into  a  perfectly  integral  nation.  The 
attainment  of  this  stage  is  indispensable  to  a  career 
of  permanent  progress.  As  hinted  above,  the  premature 
overthrow  of  the  Hellenic  political  system  is  to  be  attributed 

*  The  structure  of  the  Amphiktyonic  union  showa  "that  the  system  ot 
cities  with  which  we  are  so  familiar  in  Grecian  history  grew  out  of  an  earher 
system  of  tribes."  Freeman,  Comparative  Politics,  p.  88.  Further  evidence, 
in  abundance,  may  be  found  in  the  succeeding  pages  of  that  excellent  book, 
which  reads,  from  beginning  to  end,  almost  like  a  commentary  upon  tllia 
chapter. 


218  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [n.  IL 

to  its  very  incomplete  integration.  An  aggregate  of  the 
national  type  was  in  process  of  formation  by  tlie  extensive 
coalescence  of  maritime  cities  under  the  leadership  of  Athens, 
when  the  Peloponnesian  war  intervened,  vindicating  the 
superiority  of  selfish  autonomy,  and  showing  by  its  result 
that  the  civilizing  spirit  of  nationality  was  as  yet  too  feeble 
to  prevail. 

It  was  first  under  Eoman  dominion  that  national  aggre- 
gation and  the  feeliDg  of  national  solidarity  began  to  be 
brought  to  something  like  completeness.  By  absorbing 
nearly  all  the  petty  communities  then  existing  within  the 
limits  of  the  IMediterranean  world,  and  by  gradually  extend- 
ing to  their  members  the  privileges  of  citizenship,  Eome 
succeeded  in  dealing  to  the  passion  for  autonomy  a  blow 
from  which  it  has  never  recovered ;  while  the  enormous 
extent  of  the  Empire,  and  its  ethnic  heterogeneity,  imparted 
to  the  national  spirit  thus  evoked,  a  cosmopolitan  character 
destined  to  be  of  prodigious  service  to  civilization.  The 
influence  of  these  circumstances  upon  the  attitude  of  Chris- 
tianity I  have  already  alluded  to,  and  it  cannot  be  too 
strongly  insisted  upon.  No  human  mind  could  have  even 
conceived,  much  less  have  carried  into  execution,  the  idea  of 
a  universal  religion,  if  the  antique  state  of  social  isolation 
had  not  previously  been  brought  to  a  close  in  universal 
empire.  If  Christianity  had  appeared  four  centuries  earlier 
than  it  did,  it  would,  like  Buddhism,  have  assumed  the  garb 
of  a  local  religious  reformation.  Or  if  it  could  have  aimed 
at  anything  higher  and  more  comprehensive  than  this,  its 
preaching  would  have  fallen  upon  ears  not  ready  to  receive 
it.  All  the  Oriental  enthusiasm,  all  the  Hellenic  subtlety,  of 
Paul,  could  have  effected  nothing,  had  he  visited  Athens  in 
the  days  of  Plato  and  Diogenes.  But  the  cosmopolitan 
element  in  Eoman  civilization  was  just  that  which  Chris^^ 
tianity  most  readily  assimilated,  and  which  it  intensified  by 
setting  up  a  new  principle  of  common  action  in  place  of  the 


OH.  xviil]  the  evolution  OF  SOCIETY.  219 

primeval  principle  of  comnmnity  of  race.  From  this  hiippy 
concurrence  of  circumstances  tliere  was  formed,  upon  the 
ruins  of  Paganism,  that  religious  organization  which  alone, 
of  all  churches  that  have  existed,  has  earned  the  glorious 
name  of  Catholic.  Disgusted  at  some  of  her  high-handed 
proceedings  in  later  times,  Protestant  historians  hav*".  too 
generally  forgotten  that  the  Ptoman  Church,  by  co-ordinating 
the  most  vigorous  and  progressive  elements  of  ancient  life, 
prepared  the  way  both  for  the  ubiquity  and  for  the  per- 
manence of  modern  civilization.  Had  the  ecclesiastical 
system  of  the  Empire  perished,  along  with  the  breaking 
up  of  its  political  system ;  had  there  been  really  that  wreck 
of  ancient  institutions  in  the  fifth  century  which  was 
formerly  supposed  to  have  occurred,  until  Mr.  Bryce  and 
Mr.  Preeman  dispelled  the  gross  error;  it  is  difficult  to  see 
how  mediaeval  European  history  could  have  been  politically 
anything  more  than  a  repetition  of  Grecian  history,  save 
only  in  the  extent  of  its  geographical  range.  Whoever  is 
disposed  to  doubt  so  emphatic  an  assertion  will  do  well 
duly  to  ponder  the  fact  that  the  newly-arriving  Teutonic 
subjects  of  the  Empire  (who  would,  in  such  case,  have  come 
as  foreign  conquerors)  had  not  advanced  beyond  the  stage  of 
tribal  organization.  On  their  further  aggregation  into  rural 
and  civic  bodies,  the  autonomous  spirit  would  have  acquired 
an  ascendency  which  it  might  well  have  taken  another  more 
fortunate  Athenian  federation,  or  another  all-absorbing 
Eoman  domination,  thoroughly  to  destroy.  Even  as  it  was, 
it  reqiured  all  the  immense  power  of  the  Church,  unflinch- 
ingly exercised  through  many  generations,  to  prevent  Euro- 
pean society  from  disintegrating  into  a  mere  collection  oi 
mutually  repelling  tribal  communities.  But  the  Church 
not  only  preserved  the  best  social  results  of  Roman  dominion, 
by  hastening  the  consolidation  of  each  embryonic  nation- 
ality ;  it  also,  by  its  peculiar  position  as  common  arbiter 
between  the  different  states  thus  arising,   assisted  iu  tha 


820  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [ft.  li. 

formation  of  a  new  social  aggregate  of  a  yet  higher  order. 
The  modern  system  of  independent  nationalities  held  in 
virtual  federation — not  by  international  codes,  but  by  the 
possession  of  guiding  principles  of  conduct  more  or  less 
heartily  reverenced  by  all — is  chiefly  the  work  of  the  Eoman 
Church.  Here,  finally,  we  have  reached  a  system  whose 
structure  bears  in  the  highest  degree  the  marks  of  perma- 
nence. It  is  sustained  by  the  ever-deepening  sentiments 
of  cosmopolitan  philantliropy  and  universal  justice, — the 
most  cohesive  of  social  forces,  as  the  spirit  of  local  selfish- 
ness was  the  most  disruptive. 

Here  it  might  seem  that  we  have  obtained  all  the  data 
requisite  for  enunciating  our  law  of  social  progress.  But 
something  is  still  wanting.  Our  law  of  progress,  if  now 
enunciated,  would  be  too  general  It  would  cover  aUke  the 
phenomena  of  social  and  of  organic  life.  In  both  there  is 
an  advance  from  indeterminate  uniformity  to  determinate 
multiformity ;  in  both  there  is  a  continuous  adaptation  of  the 
organism  or  the  community  to  its  environment ;  and  in  both 
there  is  a  continuous  integration,  entailing  an  advance  from 
incoherence  to  coherence  of  structure.  We  must  now  start 
in  search  of  that  all-important  clause  which  shall  express  the 
essential  difference  between  organic  and  social  progress. 

In  the  ancient  family-community,  as  delineated  by  Sir 
Henry  Maine,  the  separate  existence  of  the  individuals  was 
almost  submerged  and  lost  in  the  corporate  existence  of  the 
aggregate.  Personal  freedom  was  entirely  unrecognized.  To 
family  duties  aU  individual  rights  were  subjected.  By  a  tie, 
religious  no  less  than  political,  the  members  of  the  family 
were  all  held  in  allegiance  to  its  oldest  male  representative. 
The  father  might  abandon  his  son  in  infancy,  and  when 
grown  up  might  sell  him  as  a  slave,  or  put  him  to  death 
for  disobedience.  And  the  wife  was  to  an  equal  extent  in 
the  power  of  her  husband,  to  whom  she  legally  stood  in  the 
relation  of  a  daughter,  so  that  marriage   was  but  the  ex« 


cu.  xviii.]  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY.  221 

change  of  one  form  of  servitude  for  another.  No  transfer  of 
property  was  valid,  unless  the  persons  conducting  it  swore 
in  the  name  of  some  ancestor, — dead  ages  ago,  it  might  be ; 
for  so  absolute  was  the  authority  of  iha  paterfamilias  that  it 
could  not  be  conceived  as  departing  from  him  at  death,  but 
must  be  exercised  by  him,  through  the  medium  of  prescrip- 
tive ceremonial,  over  whole  generations  to  come.  Nothing, 
in  short,  was  regulated  by  contract,  but  everything  was  deter- 
mined by  status}  And  this  is  the  fact  which  irretrievably 
demolislies  Eousseau's  theory  that  social  aggregation  is  due  to 
a  primitive  compact.  That  tlieory  is  merely  an  illegitimate 
attempt  to  explain  an  ancient  phenomenon  by  causes  which 
have  had  only  a  modern  existence.^  The  member  of  a  pri- 
mitive tribal  community  had  no  conception  of  contract;  what 
he  was  born  to  do,  belonged  to  his  status  ;  and  that  he  must 
do.  The  prevalence  of  this  state  of  things  in  the  empires  of 
the  East  is  chief  among  many  converging  proofs  that  those 
nations  are  nothing  but  immense  tribes,  or  aggregates  of  the 
first  order. 

With  the  rise  of  higher  aggregates,  such  as  states,  civic  or 
imperial,  this  sinking  of  the  individual  in  the  corporate 
existence  still  for  some  time  continued.  The  rights  and 
duties  of  the  individual  were  still  unrecognized,  save  in  so  far 
as  tliey  followed  from  the  status  in  which  he  happened  to  be 
placed.  In  republican  Eome,  and  in  the  Hellenic  commu- 
nities, the  well'are  of  the  citizen  was  universally  postponed 
to  the  weKare  of  the  state.  But  circumstances  too  compli- 
cated to  be  here  detailed,  of  which  the  chief  symptom  was 
the  increasing  importance  assigned  by  lioman  jurisprudence 
to  contracts,  resulted,  at  an  advanced  period  of  the  empire, 

*  This  term  is  well  defined  by  Heineccius : — "  Status  est  qualitaa  cnjns 
ratione  homines  diverso  jure  utuntur.  .  .  Alio  jure  utitur  liber  homo  ;  alio 
lervus  ;  alio  civis  ,  alio  perei^rinus."     Recitationes,  lib.  i.  tit.  3. 

3  See  the  discu.ssiou  of  the  docrrine  in  Austin,  Province  of  Jurispnidenat, 
pp.  331 — 371  ;  Kant,  Rcchtslehre,  Th.  ii.,  Absehn.  Lj  StaUl,  Philosofkie  dst 
Rechts,  vL  142 ;  Maine,  Ancieni  Law^  chap.  It 


222  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

in  the  more  or  less  complete  recognition  of  indi-vidual  rights 
and  obligations.  On  the  rise  of  the  feudal  system,  the  rela- 
tions of  vassal  to  suzerain  were,  through  the  influence  of 
Eoman  conceptions,  extensively  regulated  by  contract ;  and 
it  is  in  this  respect  that  the  feudal  institutions  are  moat 
widely  distinguished  "  from  the  unadulterated  usages  of  pri- 
mitive races."  ^  It  was,  I  believe,  mainly  owing  to  this  that 
the  integration  of  feudal  lordships  into  nations  was  accom- 
panied by  the  enlargement  of  individual  liberty  to  a  much 
greater  extent  than  the  integration  of  ancient  clans,  gentes, 
and  phratries  into  civic  communities.  The  Eoman  Church 
also  aided  in  promoting  the  freedom  of  individuals,  as  well 
as  in  facilitating  the  consolidation  of  states.  By  the  more 
or  less  strict  enforcement  of  clerical  celibacy,  it  maintained 
in  the  midst  of  hereditary  aristocracy  a  comparatively  demo- 
cratic organization,  where  advancement  largely  depended 
upon  moral  excellence  or  intellectual  ability.  And  preserv- 
ing, by  the  same  admirable  institution,  its  independence  of 
feudal  patronage,  it  was  often  enabled  successfully  to  inter- 
pose between  the  tyranny  of  kings  and  the  helplessness  of 
subjects.  To  ecclesiastical  celibacy,  more  than  to  almost  any 
other  assignable  institution,  we  owe  our  emancipation  from 
ancient  patriarchal  conceptions  of  social  duty.  The  develop- 
ment of  industry,  crossing  in  various  ways  the  antique 
divisions  of  society,  has  contributed  to  the  same  result; 
until,  m  modern  times,  the  primitive  mode  of  organization  is 
almost  entirely  effaced,  leaving  but  few  barely  traceable 
vestiges.  Individual  rights  and  obligations,  from  being  no- 
thing, have  come  to  be  all  in  all.  While  originally  the  indi- 
vidual was  thought  to  exist  only  for  the  sake  of  the  state, 
the  sfate  is  now  regarded  as  existing  only  for  the  sake  of  the 
individual. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  the  very  same  process,  which  has 
tBsulted  in  the  formation  of  social  aggregates  of  a  higher  and 

1  Maine,  op.  cit.  p.  366. 


CH.  XVIII.]  TEE  EVOLUTION  OF  SOCIETY,  223 

higher  order,  has  also  resulted  in  the  more  and  more  complete 
subordination  of  the  requirements  of  the  aggregate  to  the 
requirements  of  the  individual.  And  be  it  further  noticed, 
that  the  relative  strength  of  the  altruistic  feelings  which 
maintain  the  stability  of  the  highest  social  aggregation,  main- 
tains also  to  the  fullest  extent  the  independence  of  its  indi- 
vidual members ;  while  the  relative  strength  of  the  egoistic 
feelings  which  in  early  times  prevented  the  exis'^ence  of  any 
higher  organization  than  the  family  or  tribe,  w^as  also  in- 
compatible with  individual  freedom  of  action.  Now  this  is 
precisely  the  reverse  of  the  state  of  things  which  we  find  in 
organic  evolutioiL  In  organic  development,  the  individual 
life  of  the  parts  is  more  and  more  submerged  in  the  cor- 
porate life  of  the  whole.  In  social  development,  corporate 
life  is  more  and  more  subordinated  to  individual  life.  The 
highest  organic  life  is  that  in  which  the  units  have  the  least 
possible  freedom.  The  highest  social  life  is  that  in  which 
the  units  have  the  greatest  possible  freedom.  This  feature  of 
social  evolution  is  most  conveniently  described  by  Schelling's 
term  individuation,  which  is  employed  in  a  kindred  sense 
both  in  Mr,  Spencer's  and  in  other  modern  works  on  biology. 

Thus  we  have  at  last  reached  the  conclusion  in  quest  of 
which  we  set  out.  Supplementing  our  previous  results, 
according  to  which  organic  and  social  evolution  were  seen  to 
agree,  by  our  present  result,  according  to  which  they  are  seen 
to  differ,  we  obtain  a  formula  for  social  evolution  which  may 
be  regarded  as  fundamentally  accurate.  We  obtain  the  Law 
^f  Progress,  which  may  be  provisionally  stated  as  follows  : — 

"  The  Evolution  of  Society  is  a  continuous  establishment  oj 
f/sychical  relations  icithin  the  Community,  in  conformity  to 
physical  and  psychical  relations  arising  in  the  Environment ; 
during  which,  both  the  Community  and  the  Environment  pass 
from  a  state  of  relatively  indefinite,  incoherent  homogeneity  to 
%  state  of  relatively  definite,  coherent  hderogeiicity  ;  and  during 


224  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  il 

which,  the  constituent  Units  of  the  Community  "become  ever 
more  distinctly  individuated." 

In  the  next  chapter  I  shall  proceed  to  show  hew  this  ex- 
ceedingly general  and  technical  formula  includes  and  justifies 
whatever  is  defensible  in  sundry  less  abstract  generalizations, 
expressed  in  more  popular  language,  by  Comte  and  Buckle. 
We  shall  be  called  upon  to  pass  in  review  certain  phases  of 
social  evolution,  and  to  criticize,  with  the  aid  of  the  theorems 
now  at  our  disposal,  the  claims  of  Comte  to  be  regarded  as 
tli«  founder  of  sociology. 


CHAPTER  XIS. 

ILLUSTKATIONS   AND   CEITICISM8, 

The  discussion  contained  in  the  foregoing  chapter  has  shown 
to  what  a  notable  extent  the  phenomena  of  social  evolution 
may  be  expressed,  with  the  strictest  accuracy,  by  formulas 
originally  invented  to  describe  the  evolution  of  life  in 
general.  Let  us  briefly  review  the  results  which  we  ha-ve 
already  obtained. 

First,  we  saw  that  social  as  well  as  orgaiUC  evolution 
consists  in  the  continuous  adaptation  of  the  community,  or 
organism,  to  the  environment.  Or,  expressing  the  lame  thing 
in  other  words,  social  progress  is  a  continuous  estaMishment 
of  inner  relations  in  conformity  to  outer  relations. 

Secondly,  we  saw  that  in  the  course  of  this  adrntation 
the  community,  like  the  organism,  continually  incret^ses  in 
definite  heterogeneity,  through  successive  differentiations  and 
integrations. 

Thirdly,  we  saw  that  in  the  community,  as  in  the  organism, 
the  increase  in  internal  heterogeneity  is  determined  by  the 
continuous  increase  of  heterogeneity  in  the  environment. 

Fourthly,  we  saw  that  the  increase  of  heterogeneity  in  the 
environment  is  determined  by  the  successive  integration  of 
communities  into  more  and  more  complex  and  coherent 
iggregates.     And  this  law  also  holds  of  organic  progress. 

VOL.  II.  Q 


826  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

These  four  generalizations,  expressing  the  points  in  which 
social  and  organic  development  coincide,  were  summed  up  in 
the  two  first  clauses  of  our  law  of  progress.  They  are  imme- 
diate corollaries  of  the  law  of  universal  evolution  and  of  the 
definition  of  life  as  adjustment.  They  are  not  to  be  under- 
stood as  mere  expressions  of  striking  analogies.  They  are 
to  be  understood  as  implying  that  the  evolution  of  life  and 
the  evolution  of  society  are,  to  a  certain  extent  and  in 
the  most  abstract  sense,  identical  processes.  Such  a  con- 
clusion, indeed,  became  inevitable  the  moment  we  wero 
brought  to  admit  that  the  phenomena  of  society  constitute 
but  a  specialized  division  of  the  phenomena  of  psychical  life. 

Nevertheless  it  would  be  a  grave  error  to  infer,  from  this 
necessary  coincidence  in  development,  that  a  community  is 
nothing  more  than  a  kind  of  organism,  as  Plato  imagined  in 
his  "  Republic,"  and  Hobbes  in  his  "  Leviathan."  "When  we 
go  so  far  as  to  compare  the  metropolis  of  a  community  to 
the  heart  of  an  organism,  its  roads  to  blood-vessels,  its  cir- 
culating commodities  to  circulating  nutritive  materials,  its 
money  to  blood-corpuscles,  its  channels  for  transmitting 
intelligence  to  nerve-axes,  and  the  individuals  of  which  it  is 
composed  to  physiologic  units ;  we  are  instituting  a  series  of 
analogies,  which  are  no  doubt  of  considerable  value  in  the 
study  both  of  history  and  of  political  economy.  In  his  essay 
on  the  "Social  Organism,"  Mr.  Spencer  has  traced  a  great 
number  of  such  analogies,  which  are  no  less  instructive  than 
curious,  but  they  are  after  all  analogies  and  not  homologies. 
So  when  ]M.  Littr^  points  out  that  the  study  of  political 
economy  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  the  science  of 
sociology  as  the  study  of  the  nutritive  functions  to  the 
science  of  biology,  he  reveals  an  analogy  of  great  philoso- 
phical value.  But  we  nevertheless  feel  that  there  is  a  wide 
distinction  between  an  organism  and  a  community,  which  it 
would  be  absurd  to  ignore;  and  Hobbe'~'s  conception  of 
society  as  a  va     Leviathan  strikes  us  as  grotesque. 


CJi.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CBITIGISMS.  227 

This  insuperable  distinction  is  the  fact  that  in  a  community 
the  psychical  life  is  all  in  the  parts,  while  in  an  organism  the 
psychical  life  is  all  in  the  whole.  The  living  units  of  society 
"do  not  and  cannot  lose  individual  consciousness,"  whilo 
"the  community  as  a  whole  has  no  corporate  consciousness." 
"The  corporate  life  must  here  be  subservient  to  the  Uvea 
of  the  parts;  instead  of  the  lives  of  the  parts  being  sub- 
servient to  the  corporate  life."  ^  The  historical  induction  at 
the  close  of  the  preceding  chapter  showed  us  that  such  has 
been  the  case.  While  during  the  advance  toward  greater 
heterogeneity  and  coherence,  the  original  lines  of  demarcation 
between  communities  have  been  ever  becoming  effaced  as  the 
communities  have  become  integrated  into  higher  and  higher 
aggregates,  we  saw  that  as  a  part  of  the  very  same  process 
the  individualities  of  the  members  of  society  have  been  ever 
increasing  in  definiteness  and  ever  acquiring  a  wider  scope 
for  activity.  And  we  saw  that  this  process  not  only  has  ever 
gone  on,  but  must  continue  to  go  on;  since,  by  the  law  of 
use  and  disuse,  the  sympathetic  or  social  feelings  must  con- 
tinue to  grow  at  the  expense  of  the  selfish  or  anti-social 
feelings  ;  and  since  this  slow  emotional  modification,  which 
makes  possible  the  higher  integration  of  society,  ensures  also 
the  higher  individuation  of  its  members.  "  Progress,  there- 
fore, is  not  an  accident,  but  a  necessity.  Instead  of  civiliza- 
tion being  artificial,  it  is  a  part  of  nature  ;  all  of  a  piece  with 
the  development  of  the  embryo  or  the  unfolding  of  a  flower. 
The  modifications  mankind  have  undergone,  and  are  still 
unaergoing,  result  from  a  law  underlying  the  whole  organic 
creation ;  and  provided  the  human  race  continues,  and  the 
constitution  of  things  remains  the  same,  those  modifications 
must  end  in  completeness."''^  As  surely  as  the  astronomer 
can  predict  the  future  state  of  the  heavens,  the  sociologist 
5an  foresee  that  the  proce.ss  of  adaptation  must  go  on  until 

*  Spencer'a  Essays,  2nd  series,  p.  154. 

•  S^jeicer,  Social  Statics,  p.  65. 

Q  2 


228  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

in  a  remote  future  it  comes  to  an  end  in  proximate  equili- 
brium. The  increasing  interdependence  of  human  interests 
must  eventually  go  far  to  realize  the  dream  of  the  philosophic 
poet,  of  a  Parliament  of  Man,  a  Federation  of  the  World, 

'•When  the  kindly  earth  shall  slumber,  lapt  in  universal  law," 

and  when  the  desires  of  each  individual  shall  be  in  proximate 
equilibrium  with  the  means  of  satisfying  them  and  with  the 
simultaneous  desires  of  all  surrounding  individuals.  Such  a 
state  implies  at  once  the  highest  possible  individuation  and 
the  highest  possible  integration  among  the  units  of  the  com- 
miinity;  and  it  is  the  ideal  goal  of  intellectual  and  moral 
progress. 

Thus  the  fundamental  law  of  progress,  as  formulated  at  the 
close  of  the  last  chapter,  contains  all  the  provisions  requisite 
in  such  a  formula.  It  describes,  in  a  single  grand  generaliza- 
tion, all  the  phenomena  of  social  evolution,  both  in  so  far  as 
they  result  from  the  general  laws  of  life,  and  in  so  far  as  they 
result  from  the  operation  of  circumstances  peculiar  to  the 
aggregation  of  intelligent  organisms  in  a  community.  And 
it  includes  and  justifies  all  the  minor  generalizations  which 
may  be  reached  by  a  direct  induction  from  historical  pheno- 
mena solely. 

This  law  of  progress  we  find  to  be  exceedingly  abstract :  it 
expresses  a  general  truth  quite  completely  disengaged  from  the 
incidents  of  particular  cases.  Such,  as  we  were  led  to  anti- 
cipate, must  be  the  character  of  a  law  which  generalizes  a 
vast  number  of  complex  phenomena.  A  formula  which  is 
to  include  in  one  expression  phenomena  so  different  as  the 
rise  of  Christianity  and  the  invention  of  the  steam-engine 
must  needs  be  eminently  abstract.  To  attempt  to  make  it 
concrete,  so  as  to  appeal  directly  to  the  historical  imagina- 
tion, would  be  to  deprive  it  of  its  universality,  to  increase  ita 
power  of  expressing  some  one  set  of  phenomena  by  render- 
ing it  powerless  to  express  some  other  equally  important  set 


CH.  3C1X.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CRITICISMS.  229 

This  consideration  explains  the  manifest  faihire  of  all  the 
attempts  which  have  been  made  to  determine  the  general  law 
of  progress  by  a  simple  historical  'induction.  Take,  for  ex- 
ample, the  two  crude  generalizations  which  pretty  nearly 
sum  up  the  philosophy  of  history  as  it  is  contained  in  the 
work  of  Mr.  Buckle ;  that  "  scepticism  "  is  uniformly  favour- 
able to  progress,  while  the  "  protective  spirit  "  (or,  the  spirit 
of  over-legislation)  is  uniformly  detrimental  to  it.  These,  in 
the  first  j)lace,  are  generalizations  drawn  from  a  peculiar  and 
temporary  phase  of  society  and  illegitimately  extended  to  all 
phases  of  society ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  even  so  far  as 
they  go,  they  have  but  a  limited  applicability, — expressing 
at  best  certain  aspects  of  intellectual  and  industrial  progress, 
but  leaving  quite  out  of  sight  that  slow  moral  evolution 
which  underlies  the  whole.  Whatever  of  truth  is  contained 
in  these  statements  is  also  contained  in  the  formula  which  I 
am  here  expounding,  and  is  much  more  accurately  expressed 
in  the  terms  of  that  formula.  Scepticism,  for  instance,  in 
the  best  sense  of  the  word,  is  the  attitude  of  mind  which  is 
caused  by  the  perception  that  certain  inner  psychical  rela- 
tions— say,  a  given  set  of  beliefs  or  institutions — have  ceased 
to  be  adapted  to  outer  relations.  The  mediaeval  conception 
of  the  world,  as  presented  in  Dante's  treatise  on  "The 
INIonarchy,"  was  very  closely  adapted  both  to  the  know- 
ledge and  to  the  social  needs  of  the  time.  The  conception 
of  man  as  the  centre  of  a  universe  made  solely  for  his  use 
and  behoof,  with  a  sun  to  give  him  light  by  day  and  a 
moon  and  stars  to  give  him  light  by  night,  with  an  Em- 
peror and  a  Pope  divinely  appointed  to  rule  him  in  thia 
life,  and  an  Autocrat  in  heaven  uniting  in  himself  the 
functions  of  these  two,  and  ruling  nature  according  to  his 
arbitrary  will ;  this  conception,  I  say,  was  in  harmony  both 
with  the  best  science  and  with  the  most  urgent  social 
requirements  of  the  time,  and  the  fact  of  its  long  duration 
shows  how  profound  was  the  harmony.     While  this  state  of 


230  COSMIC  FEILOSOFHX.  [vt.  h. 

things  lasted,  there  was  hut  little  room  for  scepticism.  But 
after  a  while  the  psychical  environment  had  so  far  altered 
as  to  he  out  of  balance  with  this  conception  of  the  world. 
The  Copernican  revolution  unseated  'Man  from  his  throne  in 
the  centre  of  the  universe,  and  advancing  physical  generali- 
zation cast  discredit  upon  the  theory  of  providential  govern- 
ment, and  so  arose  the  long  line  of  "infidels"  from  Bruno 
and  Vanini  to  Voltaire  and  Diderot.  While,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  increasing  power  of  monarchy,  especially  in  France, 
gradually  undermined  the  moral  independence  of  the  Papacy, 
converting  it  from  an  upholder  of  equity  and  a  friend  of  the 
people  into  an  unscrupulous  ally  of  regal  usurpation  and 
iniquity;  and  thus  arose  the  Great  Schism,  followed  by  the 
Protestant  revolt  and  the  grand  democratic  movement  which 
culminated  in  the  French  Pievolution.  Now  what  is  all  this 
infidel  rebellion  against  dogma  and  democratic  rebellion 
against  authority,  but  the  intellectual  and  moral  turbulence 
caused  by  the  growing  conviction  that  the  psychical  relations 
comprised  in  the  authorized  conception  of  the  world  were 
out  of  balance  with  the  new  aggregate  of  relations  formed 
by  the  discoveries  of  science  and  the  altered  requirements 
of  social  existence  ?  And  this  painful  attitude  of  the  mind, 
prompting  men  to  fresh  investigation  of  the  order  of  nature 
and  to  new  social  re-arrangements,  is  the  stimulus  to  a  new 
and  closer  adaptation. 

Such  is  the  function  of  scepticism  in  the  community,  and 
Buch  also  is  its  function  in  the  individual.  A  person,  for 
instance,  is  educated  in  an  environment  of  Presbyterian 
theology,  accepting  without  question  all  the  doctrines  of 
Calvinism.  By  and  by  liis  environment  enlarges.  Facts  in 
science  or  in  history,  methods  of  induction,  canons  of  criti- 
cism present  themselves  to  his  mind  as  things  irreconcilable 
with  his  old  creed.  Hence  painful  doubt,  entailing  eiforts 
to  escape  by  modifying  the  creed  to  suit  new  mental 
exigencies.     Hence  eager  study  and  further  enlargement  of 


CH.  3LTX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  ChlTICISMS.  231 

the  environment,  causing  fresh  disturhance  of  equilibrium 
and  renewed  doubt  resulting  in  further  adaptation.  And  so 
the  process  continues  until,  if  the  person  in  question  be 
sufficiently  earnest  and  sufficiently  fortunate,  the  environ- 
ment enlarges  so  far  as  to  comprehend  the  most  advanced 
science  of  the  day,  and  the  process  of  adaptation  goes  on 
until  an  approximate  equilibrium  is  attained  between  the 
order  of  conceptions  and  the  order  of  phenomena,  and 
scepticism,  having  discharged  its  function,  exists  no  longer, 
save  in  so  far  as  it  may  be  said  to  survive  in  the  engrained 
habit  of  weighing  evidence  and  testing  one's  hypotheses. 

Now  to  say  that  scepticism  is  one  of  the  causes  of 
progress  is  to  make  a  historical  induction  which  is  valuable 
as  far  as  it  goes ;  but  it  is  at  best  an  empirical  generalization. 
To  make  it  a  scientific  law,  we  need  to  express  the  function 
of  scepticism  in  terms  of  some  formula  which  covers  all  the 
phenomena  of  progress.  And  who  does  not  see  that  in  so 
expressing  it  we  are  obtaining  a  far  more  definite  and  ac- 
curate and  serviceable  notion  than  when  we  merely  state 
vaguely  that  scepticism  is  a  cause  of  progress  ? 

Just  so  with  the  statement  that  the  pj-otective  spirit  is  a 
hindrance  to  progress.  By  the  colloquial  phrase  "  protective 
spirit,"  J.lr.  Buckle  means  the  control,  or  at  least  the  undue 
control,  of  the  community  over  its  individual  members. 
Now  in  estimating  the  effect  of  this  circumstance  upon  pro- 
gress, everything  depends  upon  the  precise  amount  of  such 
control  which  we  are  to  regard  as  excessive.  But  this  varies 
with  each  epoch  of  civilization.  What  would  now  be  in- 
tolerable despotism  was  once  needful  restraint.  You  cannot 
have  a  constitutional  democracy  of  Vandals  or  Moguls.  So 
long  as  men's  altruistic  feelings  are  not  powerful  enough  to 
make  them  spontaneously  respect  the  claims  of  their  fellows, 
the  only  force  which  can  make  society  hold  together  is  that 
hero-worship  which  enjoins  implicit  obedience  to  the  head 
of  the  tribe  or  state.     But,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the 


233  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  n. 

steady  growth  of  altruism  at  tlie  expense  of  egoism,  ■which 
renders  possible  a  more  complete  social  aggregation,  renders 
possible  also  a  more  complete  development  of  individual 
liberty.  So  that  what  in  one  age  is  a  needful  control 
exercised  by  the  community  over  its  members  becomes  in 
the  next  age  an  undue  control.  All  this  is  expressed  in  the- 
law  of  progress,  as  here  formulated ;  but  it  is  not  expressed, 
■with  any  approach  to  accuracy,  in  the  crude  statement  that 
the  protective  spirit  is  an  obstacle  to  civilization. 

Indeed  the  longer  we  study  this  general  formula,  the  more 
we  shall  be  convinced  that  it  includes  and  justifies  all  sound 
inductions  which  can  be  derived  from  a  survey  of  historical 
phenomena.  As  we  apply  it  to  the  facts  of  history  one  after 
another,  we  shall  see  ever  more  clearly  that  its  very  abstract- 
ness  is  its  excellence,  and  that  the  initial  difficulty  in 
thoroughly  realizing  its  import  arises  from  its  very  fulness  of 
meaning.  And  we  shall  become  ever  more  deeply  impressed 
with  the  belief  that  no  amount  of  mere  historic  induction 
can  give  us  a  universally  applicable  law  of  social  progress, 
unless  our  results  be  deductively  interpreted  as  corollaries 
from  the  general  laws  of  life. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  examine  the  claims  of  Comte 
to  be  regarded  as  the  founder  of  sociology.  And  first  let  us 
note  tbat  a  law  of  social  progress  answering  so  many  require- 
ments as  are  met  by  the  law  above  expounded  could  not 
have  been  obtained  earlier  than  the  present  generation  or 
even  than  the  present  decade. 

To  conceive  of  sociogeny  as  a  specialized  branch  of  psy- 
chogeny,  itself  a  specialized  branch  of  biogeny,  was  not  pos- 
sible until  a  general  science  of  genesis  had  been  at  least 
partially  instituted.  The  very  idea  of  a  science  of  genesis 
as  applied  to  organic  phenomena  was  not  elaborated  until 
the  appearance  of  Von  Baer's  great  treatise  in  1829 
And  the  conception  was  then  altogether  too  novel  to  be 
worked  into  the  "web  of  philosophy  which  Comte  was  weav* 


cu.  XIX.J        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CRITICISMS,  233 

ing.  Considering  how,  throughout  the  latter  part  of  his  life, 
he  steadfastly  refrained  from  the  study  of  contemporary  scien- 
tific literature,  I  do  not  think  it  likely  that  Comte  ever 
became  aware  of  the  growing  prominence  of  this  conception 
of  genesis ;  and  if  he  had  become  aware  of  it  he  would 
doubtless  have  scornfully  repudiated  it,  as  he  repudiated 
almost  every  new  conception  which  was  distinctly  in  advance 
of  the  limited  scientific  knowledge  of  1830.  The  knowledge 
which  Comte  was  not  prepared  to  utilize  at  that  date,  he 
was  certainly  not  in  a  condition  to  utilize  at  any  later  period 
of  his  life.  It  was  in  1857,  the  year  of  Comte's  death,  that 
Mr.  Spencer,  in  an  essay  entitled  "  Progress :  its  Law  and 
Cause,"  first  definitely  extended  the  law  of  organic  develop- 
ment to  historic  phenomena ;  although  he  had  ever  since 
1851  been  visibly  working  toward  that  result,  and  had  in 
1855  reached  that  grand  generalization  of  the  development 
of  both  life  and  intelligence,  regarded  as  processes  of  adjust- 
ment, which  underlies  the  law  of  social  progress  here  ex- 
pounded. It  was  this  splendid  series  of  researches,  culmi- 
nating in  the  announcement  of  the  universal  law  of  evolution, 
in  1861,  which  supplied  a  new  basis  for  all  the  sciences 
which  treat  of  genesis,  and  rendered  possible  the  discovery  of 
the  special  laws  of  sociogeny.  And  finally,  in  1861,  the 
further  clue  to  these  special  laws  was  given  by  Sir  Henry 
Maine,  whose  immortal  treatise  on  "  Ancient  Law  "  threw  an 
entirely  new  light  upon  the  primitive  structure  of  society, 
and  demonstrated — what  before  could  only  have  been  sur- 
mised— that  human  society,  as  earliest  organized,  consisted 
of  a  congeries  of  tribal  communities  by  the  integration  of 
which  nave  arisen  the  various  orders  of  states  and  federations 
known  to  history. 

When,  therefore,  we  inquire  whether  Comte  did  or  did  not 
create  a  science  of  sociology,  we  need  not  be  surprised  if  it 
appears  that  he  did  not  create  such  a  science.  For  in  socio- 
logy, even  more  than  in  any  other  science,  the  prime  requisite 


234  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [rr.  ii. 

is  to  formulate  the  law  of  evolution — in  this  case,  the  crdei 
of  sequence  of  historic  events  from  epoch  to  epoch.  So  fai 
as  a  science  of  society  could  be  founded  upon  purely  statical 
considerations,  the  work  had  already  been  performed;  by 
Adam  Smith,  as  regards  political  economy,  by  Benthara,  aa 
regards  jurisprudence,  and  by  both  these  great  thinkers,  as  re- 
gards ethics.  But  ethics,  jurisprudence,  and  political  economy, 
put  together,  do  not  make  up  a  science  of  society,  as  Comte 
clearly  saw.  For  in  sociology  the  historical  element — the 
question  whence  we  started  and  whither  we  are  bound — is 
the  element  which  takes  precedence  of  all  others.  Even 
ethics,  jurisprudence,  and  political  economy  cannot  be  placed 
upon  a  truly  rational  basis  until  we  understand  the  order  of 
intellectual  and  moral  change  from  epoch  to  epoch.  To 
understand  the  "  tendencies  of  the  age  "  is  an  indispensable 
pre-requisite  for  sound  sociological  thinking  as  well  as  for 
sound  political  acting.  Thus  that  portion  of  sociology  which 
treats  of  genesis  is,  relatively  to  the  whole  science,  even 
more  important  than  the  corresponding  portions  of  biology 
and  psychology.  In  biology  pure  and  simple,  we  can,  as  we 
have  seen,  obtain  a  tolerably  complete  notion  of  the  order  of 
changes  in  the  organism,  with  but  occasional  reference  to  the 
comparatively  stable  and  unchanging  environment.  In  psy- 
chology we  have  to  take  the  environment  into  account  at 
every  step ;  but  unless  we  are  studying  the  quite  special 
problem  of  the  growth  of  the  mental  faculties,  we  do  not 
need  to  refer  to  a  definite  and  persistent  succession  of  changes 
in  the  environment.  But  in  sociology  we  cannot  work  in 
this  way.  As  M.  Littre  has  well  pointed  out,  when  we  come 
to  study  humanity  we  are  met  by  a  new  phenomenon  un- 
known in  biology  or  in  psychology  pure  and  simple.  That 
new  phenomenon  is  Tradition,  or  the  bequeathing  of  all  its 
organized  intellectual  and  moral  experience  by  each  genera- 
tion to  its  successor.  Here  for  the  first  time  we  have  an 
environment  which  is  rapidly  changing  in  a  definite  ordei 


CH.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CRITICISMS.  235 

of  sequence,  and  changing  by  the  very  activity  of  the  com- 
munity itself.  Tlie  organized  experience  of  each  generation 
becomes  a  part  of  the  environment  of  its  successor,  and 
since  in  each  successive  age  "  the  empire  of  the  dead  over 
the  living  increases,"  the  environment  of  each  generation 
consists  to  a  greater  and  greater  extent  of  the  sum-total  of 
traditions  bequeathed  by  all  past  generations.  Hence  we 
cannot  hope  scientifically  to  comprehend  the  simplest  feature 
in  any  given  state  of  the  community  without  reference  to 
ancestral  states.  The  religious  phenomena  of  the  present 
day,  for  example,  cannot  be  understood  without  previous 
knowledge  of  the  whole  history  of  Christianity,  and  indeed 
of  human  speculative  thought  since  men  began  to  be  aware 
of  the  universe  about  them.  Our  political  organization  can 
be  scientifically  interpreted  only  as  the  offspring  of  ances- 
tral political  organizations  in  a  series  reaching  back  to  the 
primitive  tribal  community.""  And  so  with  all  the  aspects 
of  society.  Whether  we  are  studying  a  creed,  a  code  of  laws, 
a  dialect,  a  system  of  philosophy,  a  congeries  of  myths,  or 
a  set  of  manners  and  customs,  we  can  arrive  at  the  rational 
solution  of  our  problem  only  through  a  historical  inquiry. 
Hence  the  doctrine  of  genesis,  indispensable  as  it  is  in  the 
other  two  organic  sciences,  becomes,  if  one  may  say  so,  even 
more  indispensable  in  sociology.  Here  the  whole  science 
rests  upon  sociogeny,  and  until  we  have  reached  a  scientific 
conception  of  progress  we  cannot  stir  a  step. 

Thus,  in  addition  to  the  unparalleled  complexity  of  its 
phenomena,  and  to  its  general  dependence  both  for  doctrine 
and  for  method  upon  the  simpler  sciences,  we  perceive  still 
another  reason  why  the  science  of  sociology  has  been  the  last 
to  be  constituted.  Eesting  as  it  does  upon  the  law  of  pro- 
gress, it  has  had  to  wait  not  only  until  the  preceding  sciences 

^  See  Mr.  Freeman's  book,  Comparative  Politics, — the  work  of  a  great 
Bcholar  who  mberits  the  gift  of  Midas,  and  makes  gold  of  eveiy  subject  that 
he  touches. 


236  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

were  founded,  "but  until  they  were  sufficiently  advanced  to 
supply  it  with  tlie  general  formula  of  organic  development, 
from  which  alone  the  law  of  social  progress  could  be  deduced. 
It  was  not  enough  that  Bichat  had  laid  the  foundations  for  a 
general  theory  of  nutrition,  reproduction  and  innervation,  or 
that  James  Mill  had  established  the  fundamental  laws  oi 
association  ;  though  this  was  indeed  much.  The  new  science 
had  to  wait  until  Von  Baer  had  traced  the  order  in  which 
organisms  develope,  until  Mr.  Darwin  had  shown  how  through 
heredity  and  natural  selection  organisms  become  adapted  to 
their  environments,  and  until  Mr.  Spencer  had  shown  how 
associated  ideas  and  emotions  are  slowly  generated  and  modi- 
fied in  conformity  to  surrounding  circumstances. 

All  this,  of  course,  could  not  be  foreseen  by  Comte.  But 
he  nevertheless  clearly  saw — and  it  does  honour  to  his  philo- 
sophic acumen — that  a  comprehensive  theory  of  social  changes 
can  be  obtained  only  by  studying  them  in  the  order  of  their 
historical  dependence.  He  saw  that  the  laws  of  sociology 
are  at  bottom  the  laws  of  history.  And  especially,  from  the 
practical  point  of  view,  he  saw  that  no  general  theory  fit  to 
serve  as  a  basis  for  the  amelioration  of  society  could  be  de- 
duced from  mere  abstract  reasonings  about  human  nature,  or 
obtained  inductively  from  the  mere  observation  of  contem- 
porary social  phenomena.  All  theories  formed  in  this  way, 
without  reference  to  the  order  of  historic  progression,  are  in 
danger  of  being  stated  too  absolutely,  and  are  wont  to  give 
birth  only  to  Utopian  projects.  Comte  was  never  weary  of 
pointing  out  the  errors  of  those  political  economists  who 
deduce  general  laws  of  accumulation  and  distribution  from 
the  industrial  phenomena  presented  by  a  single  country  at  a 
particular  epoch ;  or  of  those  moralists  who  base  their  theories 
upon  that  absurdest  of  aphorisms,  that "  human  nature  is 
always  and  everywhere  the  same " ;  or  of  those  legislators 
who,  in  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  humanity  is  travelling  in 
a  definite  and  partially  ascertainable  direction,  fondly  hope  to 


ra.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CRITICISMS.  237 

turn  it  hither  and  thither  by  shrewdly-concocted  acts  of  par- 
liament. Nor,  in  maintaining  this  last  position,  did  he  ever 
fall  into  the  opposite  error — characteristic  of  superficial 
writers  like  ]\Iacaulay  and  Buckle — that  individual  genius 
and  exertion  is  of  little  or  no  account  in  modifying  the  course 
of  history.  He  did  not  forget  that  history  is  made  by  indi- 
vidual men,  as  much  as  a  coral  reef  is  made  by  individual 
polyps.  Each  contributes  his  infinitesimal  share  of  effort : 
nor  is  the  share  of  effort  always  so  trifling.  Considering  the 
course  of  history  merely  as  the  resultant  of  the  play  of  moral 
forces,  is  there  not  in  a  Julius  Ciesar  or  a  Themistokles  as 
large  a  manifestation  of  the  forces  which  go  to  make  history 
as  in  thousands  of  common  men  ?  Nevertheless  the  fact 
remains  that  civilization  runs  in  a  definite  path,  that  the 
sum-total  of  ideas  and  feelings  dominant  in  the  next  genera- 
tion will  be  the  offspring  of  the  sum-total  of  ideas  and  feel- 
ings dominant  in  this,  and  that  ouly  by  understanding  the 
general  course  of  the  w.ovement  of  humanity  can  we  hope  to 
make  our  volitions  count  for  much  as  an  item  in  the  resulting 
aggregate  of  effects. 

Holding  such  views  as  these,  Comte  saw  that  the  first  aim 
of  the  sociological  inquirer  must  be  to  ascertain  the  law  of 
progress.  And  accordingly  he  set  himself  to  work  to  perform 
this  task,  with  the  only  instrument  then  at  his  command, — 
that  of  historical  induction.  I  have  already  remarked  upon 
his  wonderful  skill  in  the  use  of  that  instrument  of  research. 
T  doubt  if  anyone  has  ever  lived  who  had  a  keener  sense  of 
the  significance  of  historic  events,  so  far  as  such  significance 
could  be  perceived  without  the  aid  of  conceptions  furnished 
by  the  sciences  of  organic  development.  The  fifth  volume  of 
the  "  Philosophic  Positive  "  is  certainly  a  marvellous  tableau 
of  the  progress  of  society.  I  know  of  no  concrete  presenta- 
bion  of  universal  history  which  can  be  compared  Avith  it. 
The  general  excellence  of  the  conception  is  matched  by  the 
excellence  of  the  execution  even  to  the  smallest  details.   And 


238  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

amid  the  host  of  pregnant  suggestions  concerning  Greek  and 
Roman,  and  especially  concerning  mediaeval,  history,  the 
Great  fact  that  there  has  heen  and  is  a  determinate  order 
of  sequence  in  liuman  atfairs  is  placed  quite  beyond  cavil 
on  the  highest  plane  of  inductive  demonstration. 

To  achieve  so  much  as  this  was  to  show  that  a  science  of 
sociology  is  possible,  and  to  prepare  the  way  very  thoroughly 
for  the  creation  of  such  a  science.  But  Comte  professed  to 
have  done  more  than  this.  He  regarded  himself  as  the 
founder  of  sociology,  and  is  so  regarded  by  his  disciples. 
It  is  part  of  our  business  to  determine,  if  we  can,  whether 
the  claim  is  a  valid  one ;  and  in  order  to  do  this,  we  must 
examine  the  theorems  which  Comte  propounded  as  the 
fundamental  laws  of  progress. 

These  theorems  are  two  in  number, — the  first  relating  to 
the  intellectual,  the  second  to  what  we  may  call  the  material, 
development  of  mankind.  Tbe  first  is  an  old  acquaintance, 
being  nothing  else  than  the  generalization  that  all  human 
conceptions  must  pass  through  three  stages — the  theological, 
the  metaphysical,  and  the  positive.  We  have  already  (Part  I. 
chapter  vii.)  examined  this  theory  upon  its  own  merits. 
Tried  by  a  psychological  analysis,  we  have  found  it  to  be 
only  partially  true.  We  saw  it  to  be  correct  in  so  far  as  it 
asserts  that  the  prevailing  conception  of  the  world  becomes 
less  and  less  anthropomorphic  from  age  to  age ;  but  incorrect 
in  so  far  that  it  asserts  that  in  this  deanthropomorphizing 
process  there  are  three  radically  distinguishable  stages,  and 
also,  in  so  far  as  it  asserts  that  the  process  must  end  in  Posi- 
tivism. We  saw  that,  although  without  doubt  men  began  by 
seeing  volition  everywhere  and  must  end  by  seeing  an  in- 
scrutable Power  everywhere,  nevertheless  the  mental  process 
has  throughout  been  one  and  the  same,  and  any  appearance 
of  definite  stages  can  be  only  superficial.  Nevertheless, 
between  the  primeval  savage  who  prays  to  his  fetish  and  the 
modern  philosopher  who  recognizes  that  he  must  shape  his 


cu.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CRITICISMS.  239 

conduct  according  to  invariable  laws  or  pay  the  penalty  in 
some  form  of  inevitable  suffering,  the  difference  in  mental 
attitude  is  so  vast  that  we  may  well  have  a  distinction  in 
terms  to  correspond  to  it.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  have 
frequently  contrasted  Anthropomorphism  and  Cosmism  as 
the  initial  and  final  terms  of  a  continuous  progression.  This, 
however,  is  not  the  Comtean  doctrine.  Again,  metaphysics, 
as  Comte  understands  it,  being  merely  imperfect  scientific 
inquiry  conducted  by  the  aid  of  the  subjective  method  be- 
queathed by  anthropomorphism,  cannot  be  regarded  as  the 
peculiar  possession  of  any  particular  stage. 

But  while  Comte's  theorem,  in  spite  of  these  radical 
defects,  contains  a  germ  of  truth  and  has  been  found  to  be 
eminently  useful  as  a  formula  for  intellectual  development,  I 
cannot  but  be  surprised  that  Comte  should  have  regarded  it 
as  the  fundamental  law  of  social  progress,  and  still  more  that 
such  able  writers  as  Mr.  Mill  and  Mr.  Lewes  should  at  the 
present  day  be  found  countenancing  such  an  opinion.  Does 
this  "  law  "  explain  how  it  was  that  Greek  civilization  pre- 
maturely failed  ?  Does  it  throw  any  light  upon  the  causal 
connection  between  Eoman  universal  dominion  and  the 
Christian  sentiment  of  the  brotherhood  of  men?  Does  it 
recognize  the  distinction  between  the  growth  of  a  community 
in  size  and  its  growth  in  structure,  or  hint  to  us  that  the 
differences  between  Chinese  and  European  civilization  may 
be  summed  up  in  the  statement  that  China  is  only  a  stupen- 
dous tribal  community,  while  Komanized  Europe  is  virtually 
a  federation  of  exceedingly  heterogeneous  national  aggre- 
gates ?  And  while,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  it  uncon- 
sciously recognizes  that  intellectual  development  is  a  con- 
tinous  process  of  adaptation,  does  it  say  anything  about  that 
^low  process  of  emotional  change  by  which  the  more  har- 
monioifs  co-operation  of  societies  and  the  more  perfect 
freedom  of  individuals  are  aliJce  rendered  possible  ?  Indeed 
it  says  nothing  about  any  of  these  things ;  and  i  must  think 


240  COSMIO  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii. 

that  these  are  very  extensive  lacunpe  in  a  theorem  which 
professes  to  be  the  fundamental  law  of  social  progress. 

But  this  formula,  as  it  stands,  is  not  the  wliole  of  Corate's 
fundamental  law  of  history.  With  the  advance  from  theolo- 
gical, through  metaphysical,  to  positive  conceptions  of  the 
world,  Comte  couples  an  advance  from  military  to  industrial 
life,  through  an  ill-defined  intermediate  stage — inserted, 
doubtless,  to  complete  the  threefold  parallelism — Mdnch  he 
calls  the  "  legal "  stage.  Thoroughly  to  explain  what  he 
means  by  this  "  legal "  stage  of  society,  would  require  more 
detail  than  I  can  here  well  indulge  in.  We  must  be  content 
wdth  observing  that  he  means  to  designate  that  epoch,  which 
indeed  we  have  not  yet  left  behind  us,  in  which  parlia- 
mentary legislation  is  thought  competent  to  renovate  society 
artificially, — in  which  it  is  supposed  that  legislatures  can 
make  men  rich  by  giving  them  paper-money,  intellectual  by 
patronizing  literature,  temperate  by  closing  dram-shops.  As 
this  phase  of  opinion  was  very  conspicuous  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  coupled  with  metaphysical  systems  of  political 
ethics  deduced  from  revolutionary  theories  of  the  "  inherent 
rights  of  man,"  Comte  links  this  whole  set  of  doctrines 
together,  and  makes  a  so-called  metaphysico-legal  stage  in 
social  progress.  But  I  cannot  think  this  a  happy  generali- 
zation. This  "  legal "  stage  is,  at  the  best,  a  phase  of  intel- 
lectual development,  and  to  introduce  it  into  the  midst  of  a 
purely  social  progress  from  military  to  industrial  life,  seems 
too  much  like  committing  the  logical  fallacy  known  as  cross- 
division.  Omitting  this  stage,  then,  and  reducing  Comte's 
double  formula  to  its  lowest  terms, — the  only  ones,  I  think, 

ipon  which  he  himself  would  invariably  have  insisted, — we 
_ave  the  following,  as  the  Comtean  law  of  progress : — 

The  progress  of  society  is  a  gradual  change  from  arUhro- 
fomorphic    to  positive   conceptions  of   the    world,   and  from 

military  to  industrial  modes  of  life  ;  and  the  latter  kind  oj 

change  is  determined  hy  the  former. 


BH.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CFdTlCISMS.  241 

Sucli  is  tlie  form  of  statement  most  favourable  for  Comte, 
and  at  the  same  time  I  believe  it  to  be  the  one  which  best 
represents  his  permanent  opinion.  We  shall  presently  see 
that  the  generalization  of  the  change  from  military  to  in- 
dustrial modes  of  life  is  one  of  great  value,  and  it  is  to  the 
thorough  elaboration  of  it  that  much  of  the  merit  of  Comte's 
social  philosophy  is  due.  But  I  must  first  call  attention  to 
the  fatal  defect  in  the  above  formula,  the  defect  which 
destroys  its  claim  to  be  regarded  as  the  law  of  progress. 
That  fatal  defect  is  its  total  omission  of  moral  feeling  as  a 
factor  in  social  evolution.  Though  he  is  far  from  committiii[» 
Mr.  Buckle's  absurdity  of  denying  that  there  has  been  any 
improvement  in  moral  feeling,  Comte  nevertheless  falls  into 
substantially  the  same  error  with  ]\Ir.  Buckle,  in  attempting 
to  explain  all  social  progress  as  due  simply  to  a  progressive 
alteration  of  opinion.  The  error  is  one  which  seems  to  be 
shared  by  two  other  eminent  writers, — Mr.  Mill  and  Islr. 
Lewes.  Here  are  the  statements  of  the  four :  Mr.  Mill  says, 
"  We  are  justified  in  concluding  that  the  order  of  human 
progression  in  all  respects  will  mainly  depend  on  the  order 
of  progression  in  the  intellectual  convictions  of  mankind."  ' 
Mr.  Lewes  says,  somewhat  more  vaguely,  "The  evolutions 
of  Humanity  correspond  with  the  evolutions  of  Thought."  ^ 
Mr.  Buckle  says,  "  The  progress  of  mankind  depends  on  the 
juccess  with  which  the  laws  of  phenomena  are  investigated, 
and  on  the  extent  to  which  a  knowledge  of  those  laws  is 
diffused."^  Comte  says,  "It  is  not  to  the  readers  of  this 
work  that  I  think  it  necessary  to  prove  that  ideas  govern 
the  world,  and  that  the  social  mechanism  reposes  ultimately 
upon  opinions."  * 

Now  it  is  not  so  much  because  of  what  these  propositions 
fcSsert  as  because  of  what  they  omit,  that  they  mufit  be  pro- 

^  Sjstem  of  Logic,  4tli  edit.,  vol.  ii.  p.  517. 
2  Philosophy  of  tlie  Scioices,  p.  23. 
^  History  of  Civilization,  vol.  ii.  p.  L 
*  Fhilosophie  Positive,  torn.  i.  p.  48. 
▼OL.  II.  S 


842  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

nounced  unsatisfactory  and  misleading.  It  is  beyond  ques- 
tion that  the  progress  of  mankind  does  depend  upon  the 
progressive  conformity  of  the  order  of  their  conceptions  to 
the  order  of  phenomena ;  but,  after  the  inquiry  contained  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  I  believe  no  further  proof  is  necessary 
to  convince  us  that  the  progress  of  mankind  also  depends 
upon  the  progressive  conformity  of  their  desires  to  the 
requirements  arising  from  their  aggregation  in  communities. 
If  civilization  is  a  process  of  intellectual  adaptation,  it  is 
also  a  process  of  moral  adaptation ;  and  the  latter  I  believe 
to  be  the  more  fundamental  of  the  two.  The  case  is  well 
stated  by  Mr.  Spencer,  in  the  following  passage  :  "  Ideas  do 
not  govern  the  world ;  the  world  is  governed  by  feelings,  to 
which  ideas  serve  only  as  guides.  The  social  mechanism 
does   not   rest  finally  upon  opinions ;    but    almost    wholly 

upon  character All  social  phenomena  are  produced 

by  the  totality  of  human  emotions  and  beliefs  :  of  which 
the  emotions  are  mainly  predetermined,  while  the  beliefs  are 
mainly  post-determined.  Men's  desires  are  chiefly  inherited ; 
but  their  beliefs  are  chiefly  acquired,  and  depend  on 
surrounding  conditions;  and  the  most  important  surround- 
ing conditions  depend  on  the  social  state  which  the  prevalent 
desires  have  produced.  The  social  state  at  any  time  existing 
is  the  resultant  of  all  the  ambitions,  self-interests,  fears, 
reverences,  indignations,  sympathies,  etc.,  of  ancestral  citizens 
and  existing  citizens.  The  ideas  current  in  this  social  state 
must  on  the  average  be  congruous  with  the  feelings  of  citizens  ; 
and  therefore,  on  the  average,  with  the  social  state  these 
feelings  have  produced.  Ideas  wholly  foreign  to  this  social 
state  cannot  be  evolved,  and,  if  introduced  from  without, 
cannot  get  accepted — or,  if  accepted,  die  out  when  the 
temporary  phase  of  feeling  which  caused  their  acceptance 
ends."  This  statement,  I  may  observe  in  passing,  is  well 
illustrated  by  the  abortive  attempts  of  missionaries  to  civilize 
the  lower  races  of  mankind  by  converting  them  to  Cbriati. 


i-E.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CEITICISMS.  243 

'inity.  Though  they  sometimes  succeed  in  procuring  temporary 
verbal  acceptance  for  Christian  ideas,  they  almost  always  fail 
in  effecting  a  genesis  of  Christian  feeling,  and  such  civiliza- 
tion as  they  are  able  to  produce  is  apt  to  be  both  superficial 
and  transient.     This  is  simply  because  civilization  is  not  a 
mere  process  of  external  acquirement,  but  is  a  process  of  slow 
adaptation  or  breeding,  which  requires  many  generations  to 
effect  a  permanent  modification  of  character.  The  Fiji,  whose 
language  contains  no  words  expressive  of  the  higher  emotions 
or  the  more  exalted  principles  of   action,  cannot   be  made 
into  a  Christian.     You  may  cover  him  with  a  very  little  of 
the  external  varnish  of  civilization ;  you  may  astonish  him 
into    accepting  a  few  formulas,  to  him  quite  unintelligible, 
concerning  the  relations  of  man  to  his  Creator ;  but,  after  all, 
he  remains  a  savage  still,  in  feelings  and  in  habits  of  thought, 
bloodthirsty,   treacherous    and    superstitious,  with    a    keen 
appetite  for  human  flesh.     Or  suppose  you  could  resuscitate 
a   mediaeval   baron — one  of  those   innumerable   freebooters 
who  lived  entrenched  in  the  romantic  castles  of  the  Ehine 
and  levied  blackmail  on  every  luckless    wayfarer — suppose 
you  could  resuscitate  such  a  man,  and  were  to  endeavour  to 
expound  to  him  in  the  simplest  language  a  few  of  the  most 
self-evident  modern  axioms  concerning  political  rights    and 
the  interdependence  of  human  interests :  would  he  under- 
stand you  ?     By  no  means.     So  vast  would  be  the  difference 
in  mental  habit,  that  in  all  probability  he  could  not  even 
argue  with  you.     "  Hence  " — to  continue  with  Mr.  Spencer — 
'  though  advanced   ideas   when   once  established  act  upon 
society  and  aid  its  further  advance ;  yet  the  establishment  of 
such  ideas  depends  on  the  fitness  of  the  society  for  receiving 
them.      Practically,   the   popular   character   and  the   scciai 
state  determine  what  ideas  shall  be  current ;  instead  of  the 
current  ideas  determining  the  social  state  and  the  character. 
The    modification  of  men's  moral  natures,  caused    by  the 

II  2 


244  COSMIC  FBILOSOrHY.  [ft.  ii. 

continuous  discij)line   of  social  life,  is  theiefore  the   chief 
proximate  cause  of  social  progress." 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  Comte,  in  his  later  period,  comes 
partly  around  to  this  very  point  of  view.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  "  Politique  Positive,"  we  find  him  announcing  that 
the  increasing  tendency  in  the  altruistic  impulses  to  prevail 
over  the  t^goistic  impulses  is  the  best  measure  by  which 
to  judge  of  the  progress  of  society.^  Yet  the  unsteadiness 
with  which  he  grasped  this  principle  is  revealed  by  the 
somewhat  misty  statement,  a  few  pages  further  on,  that  "  the 
co-ordination  of  human  nature  as  a  whole  depends  ultimately 
upon  the  coordination  of  intellectual  conceptions."  A 
similar  fluctuation  in  opinion  may  be  noticed  in  Mr.  Buckle ; 
and  it  was  indeed  hardly  possible  for  the  function  of  moral 
feeling  as  a  factor  of  progress  to  be  thoroughly  understood 
by  writers  unacquainted  with  the  laws  of  adaptation  upon 
which  the  scientific  interpretation  of  that  function  is  based. 
But  whatever  Comte's  latest  opinions  may  have  been,  since 
he  never  formulated  any  law  to  include  the  action  of  moral 
feeling  as  a  factor  of  progress,  his  claims  to  be  regarded  as 
the  founder  of  sociology  must  rest  entirely  upon  his  theory 
of  progress  as  announced  and  elaborately  illustrated  in  the 
"  Philosophic  Positive." 

That  theory,  as  we  now  see,  is  much  too  incomplete  to 
serve  as  the  foundation  for  a  scientific  study  of  history. 
Civilization  cannot  be  summed  up  in  the  correct  formula 
that  men's  occupations  begin  by  being  military  and  end  by 
being  industrial,  or  in  the  incorrect  formula  that  men's  con- 
ceptions of  the  world  begin  by  being  anthropomorphic  and 
end  by  being  positive ;  nor  is  it  true  that  the  former  change 
is  determined  by  the  latter.  We  need  to  add  the  formula 
that  men's  feelings  begin  by  being  almost  purely  egoistic  and 
must  end  by  being  altruistic  to  a  considerably  greater  extent 
fchan  will  suffice  to  prevent  individual  interests  from  clashing, 
*  Politique  Positive,  torn.  i.  p.  16, 


CH.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CRITICISMS,  246 

And  even  with  all  three  formulas  before  us,  we  need  some- 
thing more  before  we  can  say  that  we  have  obtained  the  Law 
of  Progress.     These  formulas  are  historical  generalizations  of 
great  value ;  but  as  thus  announced,  they  are  too  isolated 
with  respect  to  each  other.     The  progress  of  society  is  not 
moral  progress,  or  intellectual  progress,  or  material  progress ; 
but  it  is  the  combination  of  all  the  three.     Our  tliree  for- 
mulas, therefore,  must  be  integrated  in  a  single  formula.  And 
this  is  done,  and  satisfactorily  done,  when  it  is  shown  that 
they  are  all  involved  in  that  law  of  adaptation  or  adjustment 
which  underlies  sociology,  as  well  as  psychology  and  biology. 
That  the  progress  from  egoism  to  altruism  is  involved  in 
that  fundamental  law,  was  proved  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
and  has  been  illustrated  throughout  the  whole  of  this  dis- 
cussion.    But  the  law  of  adaptation   equally  involves  the 
progress  from  Anthropomorphism,  not  to  Positivism,  but  to 
Cosmism,  as   a   necessary  corollary.      For  what   does   that 
progress  depend  upon  ?     What  is  the  underlying  process  of 
which  it  is  the  necessary  symptom  and  result  ?     Why  is  it 
that  men  begin  by  investing  the  unknown  causes  of  pheno- 
mena with  quasi-human  attributes  and  end  by  recognizing  a 
single  Cause  which  is  inscrutable  ?     In  treating  of  deanthro- 
pomorphization  (Part  I.  chap,  vii.)  we  examined  this  point. 
We  perceived  the  primitive  anthropomorphism  to  be  a  corol- 
lary from  the  relativity  of  all  knowledge.     We  saw  that,  to 
interpret   phenomena  at  all,  men  must  interpret   them  in 
terms  of  their  own  consciousness.     We  saw  that  before  the 
dawn  of  science,  when  events  seemed   isolated  and   capri- 
cious, the  phenomenon  itself  was  by  a  natural  inference — 
M'hich  only  the  progress  of  science  has  taught  us  to  correct — 
endowed  with  a  quasi-human  personality.     We  traced  the 
manner  in  which,  as  phenomena  become  generalized  iu  wider 
ind  wider  groups,   the  causes  of  phenomena  become  con- 
ceived as  more  and  more  abstract,  and  become  stripped  by 
Blow  degrees  of   their  anthropomorphic  vestments.      Until 


246  COSMIC  FEILOSOFET,  [rt.  n. 

finally,  wli(3n  generalization  has  proceeded  to  sucli  an  extent 
as  to  give  us  a  single  grand  science  of  Cosmology,  dealing 
with  the  Universe  as  an  integral  whole,  there  comes  to  be 
recognized  a  single  Cause  of  phenomena,  which,  as  being 
infinite,  cannot  be  in  any  anthropomorphic  sense  personal, 
and  which,  as  being  absolute,  must  be  inscrutable. 

Thus  we  see  that  Comte's  formula  is  not  fundamental^ 
even  as  a  formula  for  intellectual  development.  The  pro- 
cess of  deanthropomorphization  is  not  the  fundamental  fact. 
The  continuous  organization  of  knowledge  and  generaliza- 
tion of  phenomena  is  the  fundamental  fact,  of  which  the  con- 
tinuous deanthropomorphization  is  the  necessary  symptom 
and  result.  Now  in  Part  I.  chap,  ii.,  we  traced  the  out- 
lines of  this  continuous  organization  of  knowledge ;  and  we 
found  that  the  advance  from  incomplete  to  complete  know- 
ledge consists  in  the  continuous  establishment  of  groups  of 
notions  which  are  ever  more  coherent  within  themselves, 
while  they  are  ever  more  clearly  demarcated  from  one 
another.  Now  what  is  all  this  but  a  continuous  process 
of  differentiation  and  integration?  When  we  say  that  from 
first  to  last,  from  the  simplest  cognitions  of  infancy  to  the 
widest  generalizations  of  science,  we  cognize  phenomena 
invariably  through  difference  and  likeness,  we  mean  that  we 
are  continually  differentiating  notions  answering  to  unlike 
phenomena  and  continually  integrating  notions  answering  to 
like  phenomena.  Or,  to  express  the  same  thing  in  other 
words,  we  are  continually  establishing  relations  of  likeness 
and  unlikeness  among  our  conceptions,  that  in  some  way  or 
other  definitely  correspond  to  relations  of  likeness  and  un- 
likeness among  phenomena.  Thus  our  intellectual  progress 
is  at  bottom  a  process  of  adaptation.  And,  when  treating  of 
the  Test  of  Truth  (Part  I.  chap,  iii.),  it  was  shown  that 
Truth,  the  goal  of  intellectual  progress,  is  nothing  else  than 
the  complete  adaptation  of  the  order  of  conceptions  to  the 
•rder  of  phenomena, — the  establishment  of  inner  relations 


CH.  XIX.]        ILLUSTBATIONS  AND  CRITICISMS.  247 

that  are  in  equilibrium  with  outer  relations.  Thus  we 
obtain  a  "'^.ritable  law  of  intellectual  progress;  whereas  to 
Bay  that  men's  conceptions  pass  from  Anthropomorphism  to 
Positivism  is  merely  to  enunciate  an  empirical  generalization, 
which,  besides  being  erapiriccJ,  is  also  radically  imperfect. 

The  gradual  change  from  a  military  to  an  industrial  life 
must  also  seek  its  rational  explanation  in  the  law  of  progress 
as  above  formulated.  The  diminution  of  warfare  and  the 
concomitant  increase  of  devotion  to  industrial  pursuits  are 
entailed  by  the  growth  of  communities  in  size  and  structure. 
Among  the  primitive  tribal  societies  there  is  no  industrial 
life  save  that  implied  in  hunting  and  fishing,  and  at  a  some- 
what later  date  in  the  rearing  of  domestic  animals.  Settled 
agricultural  pursuits  require  a  greater  power  of  continuous 
application  and  a  more  developed  ability  to  subordinate 
present  enjoyment  to  the  f^iticipation  of  future  needs  than 
is  to  be  found  in  the  primitive  savage.  It  is  only  the  mental 
habit  produced  by  long-continued  social  disciiDline  which 
enables  us  to  work  to-day  that  we  may  enjoy  the  fruits  of 
our  labour  at  a  distant  period.  The  primeval  tribe  wanders 
from  spot  to  spot,  seeking  ever  a  better  hunting-ground  or 
richer  pasturage,  leading  a  predatory  life  which  differs  in 
little  save  in  its  family  organization  from  that  led  by  the 
lower  animals.  In  this  stage  of  society  constant  warfare  is 
inevitable,  since  each  tribe  must  fight  or  be  crushed  out  of 
existence  by  neighbouring  tribes.  Over  a  large  p'art  of  the 
earth's  surface,  such  has  been  the  monotonous  career  of 
savage  man  from  the  earliest  times  until  the  present  day. 
Such  appears  to  have  been,  in  its  main  features,  the  ancient 
history  of  our  own  country  before  its  conquest  by  Europeans, 
as  it  is  admirably  delineated  in  the  writings  of  that  acute 
observer  Mr.  Parkman. 

The  exigencies  of  warfare,  however,  of  themselves  facili- 
tate that  integration  of  tribal  communities  winch  we  have 
Been  to  be  the  indispensable  condition  of  progress.    A  con« 


248  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pi.  il 

eiderahle  step  toward  civilization  is  taken  when  trilDes  begin 
to  aggregate  for  mutual  defence  over  a  wide  tract  of  country. 
When  America  was  discovered,  an  aggregation  of  this  sort 
had  apparently  begun  to  be  formed  among  the  Iroqaois ;  and 
such  was  the  highest  organization  reached  by  the  ancient 
Turanian  tribes  of  Central  Asia.  A  far  more  important  step 
is  taken  when  warfare  ceases  to  be  purely  destructive  and 
becomes  acquisitive;  or,  in  other  words,  when  the  victors, 
instead  of  massacreing  the  vanquished,  begin  to  make  slaves 
of  them.  By  this  step  agricultural  industry  is  fairly  brought 
into  existence,  and  the  tribal  confederacy  becomes  fixed  in 
location  and  enabled  to  increase  indefinitely  in  size  at  the 
expense  of  the  less  highly  organized  communities  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Under  these  conditions  the  tribal  con- 
federacy may  grow  until  it  takes  on  the  semblance  of  an 
"aggregate  of  the  third  order,"  as  in  China,^  or  in  ancient 
Egypt,  Assyria,  Media,  Lydia,  and  Persia.  I  am  expressing 
something  more  than  an  analogy-  -I  am  describing  a  real 
homology  as  far  as  concerns  the  process  of  development — 
when  I  say  that  these  communities  simulated  modern  Euro- 
pean nations  much  in  the  same  way  that  a  tree-fern  of  the 
carboniferous  period  simulated  the  exogenous  trees  of  the 
present  time.  The  vast  growth  and  the  considerable  civi- 
lization obtained  by  such  communities  were  rendered  possible 
only  through  the  institution  of  industrial  slavery  in  place  of 
the  primeval  indiscriminate  slaughter  of  captives.  Only 
through  enforced  labour  did  the  continuous  culture  of  the 
soil  and  the  consequent  stability  of  society  become  possible ; 

1  "  In  every  respect  the  Chinese  constitution  of  society  may  be  regarded  as 
a  gi.gantic  amplification  of  the  constitution  of  tlie  family.  The  family  is  no 
doubt  the  constituent  element  of  which  all  societies  are  composed  ;  just  as,  iu 
the  body,  all  tissues,  nervous  or  muscular,  are  generated  from  the  primitive 
cellular  tissue  ;  but  whereas  in  other  societies  we  find  differentiation  into 
classes  and  institutions  which  have  no  direct  analogue  in  the  family,  in  China 
we  find  far  less  of  this,  far  more  of  adherence  to  the  primitive  social  tissue, 
to  the  patriarchal  type.  On  this  type  the  village  and  the  empire  are  alik< 
moulded."     Bridges,  ta  Essays  on  International  Polity,  p.  401. 


CH.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CRITICISMS,  249 

a    point    wliicli    Comte    clearly   saw,    and    has    'brilliantly 
illustrated. 

Thus  we  see  how  the  exigencies  of  self-protection  entailed 
by  the  primitive  state  of  universal  warfare  furnished  of 
themselves  the  conditions  for  the  rise  of  industry.  We  need 
not  trace  in  detail  the  slow  growth  of  the  industrial  spirit 
at  the  expense  of  the  military  spirit  in  the  ancient  civic 
communities,  in  the  ancient  and  medieval  Empire,  and  in 
modern  times.  That  has  been  done,  with  a  masterly  hand, 
by  Comte.  "We  may  only  note  briefly  liow  industry — the 
offspring  of  slavery,  itself  the  offspring  of  warfare — has  all 
along,  by  aiding  the  differentiation  and  integration  of  society, 
been  draining  the  vitality  out  of  its  primeval  parent.  Let 
us  note,  then,  that  the  kind  of  differentiation,  known  as 
"  division  of  labour,"  by  rendering  the  various  portions  of 
the  community  more  and  more  dependent  on  each  other, 
renders  a  state  of  warfare  ever  less  easy  to  sustain,  and 
therefore  continually,  though  slowly,  diminishes  the  frequency 
and  shortens  the  continuance  of  wars.  The  statement  that 
in  early  times  a  community  is,  on  the  whole,  better  able  to 
endure  protracted  warfare  than  in  later  times,  may  be  illus- 
trated by  a  comparison  between  the  Punic  Wars  of  Eome 
and  the  War  of  Secession  in  our  own  country.  The  horrible 
destruction  of  life  and  property  occasioned  by  the  first  and 
second  Punic  wars  is  minutely  described  in  jMommsen'a 
"Eoman  History."  The  first  of  these  desperate  struggles 
lasted  twenty-three  years,  during  the  five  severest  of  which 
the  census  of  Pioman  patricians  was  diminished  by  one-sixth 
of  the  whole  number, — a  fact  terrible  to  contemplate  when  its 
full  significance  is  realized.  After  twenty-three  years  of  com- 
parative quiet  began  the  still  more  deadly  struggle  against 
Hannibal,  which  lasted  seventeen  years.  During  this  war,  the 
total  loss  of  life  in  all  the  communities  engaged — Italian, 
Spanish,  Sicilian,  and  African — cannot  be  estimated  at  less 
than  600,000  persons  actually  slain  j  a  loss  which  I  bolieve 


260  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii. 

somewhat  exceeds  that  of  the  Northern  and  Southern  States 
in  the  American  war.  But  to  make  a  fair  comparison,  we 
must  include  the  circumstance  that  the  population  of  these 
ancient  communities  was  not  more  than  one-sixth  as  great 
as  the  population  of  the  United  States ;  and  that  in  ancieu^ 
times  the  normal  rate  of  increase  of  population  was  verj'' 
much  slower  than  in  such  a  community  as  ours.  The  second 
Punic  war  was,  therefore,  relatively  as  murderous  as  our 
civil  war  would  have  been  had  it  continued  until  between 
three  and  four  million  lives  were  destroyed.  And  if  we 
would  appreciate  the  direct  damage  to  industry  which  ifc 
entailed,  we  have  a  sufficient  datum  in  the  fact  that  during 
those  seventeen  years  more  than  four  hundred  flourishing 
towns  and  villages  in  Italy  alone  were  blotted  out  of 
existence.! 

Now  opinions  may  differ  as  to  the  possibility  of  our 
carrying  on  for  seventeen  years  a  war  which  should  drain 
our  resources  as  the  Hannibalic  war  drained  the  resources  of 
Italy.  Probably  no  country  could  so  well  sustain  such  a  trial 
as  the  United  States,  owing  to  the  favourableness  of  our 
;!0cial  conditions  for  exceedingly  rapid  growth  in  wealth  and 
population.  Nevertheless,  even  omitting  foreign  interference 
from  the  account,  I  do  not  believe  the  thing  would  be  possible. 
I  believe  it  perfectly  safe  to  assert  that  a  war  like  the  one 
we  have  lately  passed  through  v/ould,  if  prolonged  to  seven- 
teen years,  entail  social  disintegration  throughout  the  com- 
munity. Yet  the  absolute  military  power  of  the  United 
States  is  incomparably  greater  than  that  of  ancient  Eome  : 
wherein,  then,  lies  the  difference  ? 

The  explanation  will  be  found,  and  the  particular  conclu- 
sion reinforced,  when  we  consider  the  enormous  increase  of 
heterogeneity  and  interdependence  in  the  modern  as  con- 
trasted with  the  ancient  community.  In  ancient  Italy  there 
was  but  little  division  of  labour  :  it  required  but  a  few  simple 
*  Moinmsen,  Eiimische  Oescldchte,  torn.  i«  p.  671  ;  fee  also  p.  536. 


CH.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  CRITICISMS.  251 

occupations  to  supply  the  wants  of  the  whole  community. 
In  the  United  States  considered  as  a  whole,  the  division  ol 
labour  is  perhaps  not  quite  so  extreme  as  in  western  Europe, 
owing  to  the  sparseness  of  population  and  the  purely  agricul- 
tural activity  of  large  sections  of  the  country :  still,  the 
iniustrial  differentiation  is  very  great,  and  to  supply  the 
wants  of  each  portion  of  the  community  a  vast  number  o^ 
mutually  dependent  and  highly  complicated  occupations  is 
indispensably  necessary.  Obviously  the  heterogeneous  com- 
munity cannot  so  well  bear  the  abstraction  of  units  from  its 
mutually  dependent  parts,  as  the  homogeneous  community 
could  bear  the  abstraction  of  units  from  its  relatively  in- 
dependent and  self-sufficing  parts.  The  difference  is  much 
the  same  as  the  difference  between  cutting  off  portions  of 
a  worm  and  cutting  off  portions  of  a  vertebrate  animaL 
You  may  take  one  of  the  lower  worms  and  slice  away  at 
it  for  some  time  without  destroying  it,  but  in  the  case 
of  the  vertebrate  a  comparatively  small  loss  of  parts  entails 
destruction.  In  society  the  principle  is  the  same.  The 
Eomans  could  lose  army  after  army,  while  the  few  who 
remained  at  home  could  carry  on  all  the  agricultural 
and  commercial  operations  necessary  to  the  maintenance  of 
the  community.  There  were  no  great  organized  industries, 
manufacturing  or  commercial,  so  linked  together  that  the 
destruction  of  any  one  might  cause  general  financial 
disaster.  But  in  any  large  modern  community  industry  has 
^►ecome  so  heterogeneous  that  it  is  difficult  for  one  part  to 
take  on  the  functions  of  another  part,  and  so  completely 
integrated  that  a  sudden  and  considerable  withdrawal  of  men 
from  the  ordinary  pursuits  of  life  can  hardly  take  place 
without  causing  widespread  suffering.  And  the  contrast  is 
made  still  greater  by  the  industrial  federation  of  modern 
communities  as  compared  with  the  industrial  isolation  of 
ancient  states.  Though  the  time  has  perhaps  never  been, 
since  Mediterranean  civilization  began,  when  a  war  could 


£52  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ir 

continue  very  long  in  one  community  without  tending  to  set 
up  disturbance  in  some  other,  yet  this  interaction  of  different 
states  was  far  less  conspicuous  in  ancient  than  it  is  in 
modern  times.  The  Hanuibalic  war  might  go  on  for  seven- 
teen years,  and  Athens  or  Alexandria  not  be  much  the  worse 
off  for  it.  But  before  the  war  of  secession  had  continued 
twelve  months,  the  consequent  suffering  in  Lancashire  was 
manifesting  itself  in  riots,  and  England  for  a  time  seemed 
willing  at  all  hazards  to  interfere  and  check  the  contest. 

This  single  example — out  of  hundreds  that  might  be  taken 
^must  suffice  to  illustrate  the  way  in  which  the  ever- 
increasing  interdependence  of  human  interests,  itself  both 
the  cause  and  the  effect  of  industrial  progress,  is  ever  making 
warfare  less  and  less  endurable.  To  this  it  must  be  added 
that  both  moral  and  intellectual  factors  contribute  to  bring 
about  the  general  result.  As  human  interests  in  various 
parts  of  the  world  become  more  and  more  inextricably 
wrought  together,  and  as  communities  which  lie  apart  from 
each  other  come  ever  into  closer  contact,  the  ancient  an- 
tagonisms of  sentiment  between  them  slowly  disappear,  and 
international  friendship  grows  at  the  expense  of  the  old 
hostility  or  distrust.  Thus  the  moral  adaptation  due  to  long- 
«»,ontinued  social  discipline  diminishes  the  warlike  feelings 
and  strengthens  the  feelings  which  maintain  an  industrial 
rigime ;  while  on  the  other  hand,  intellectual  adaptation, 
ever  adding  new  complication  to  industry,  arrays  the  opinion 
Df  society  more  and  more  decidedly  against  war,  as  against 
iin  intolerable  source  of  disturbance.  Besides  which,  the 
very  heterogeneity  of  the  military  art,  the  increasing  ccm- 
plication  both  of  the  implements  and  of  the  methods  of  war- 
tare,  due  to  scientific  and  industrial  progress,  renders  war  evei 
more  costly,  and  makes  the  community  less  willing  to  engage 
in  it.  And  these  cooperating  processes  must  go  on  until 
— probably  at  no  very  distant  period — warfare  shall  have 
become  extinct  in  all  the  civilized  portions  of  the  globe,   ' 


en.  XIX.]        ILLUSTRATIOJSS  AND  CRITICISMS.  253 

lu  so  far  as  the  present  chapter  has  dealt  witli  the  claims 
of  Comte  to  be  ref:;'avded  as  the  founder  of  Sociology,  I  believe 
it  is  sufficiently  proved  that  these  claims  cannot  be  sustained, 
though  in  many  ways  he  did  more  than  anyone  else  to  pre- 
pare the  way  for  such  an  achievement.     If  a  man  can  ever  be 
properly  said  to  create  or  found  a  science,  it  is  only  when  he 
discovers  some  fundamental  principle  which  underlies  the 
phenomena  with  which  the  science  has  to  -deal,  and  which 
thus  serves  to  organize  into  a  coherent  ratiocinative  body  of 
knowledge  that  which  has  hitherto  been  an  incoherent  em- 
pirical bory  of  knowledge.     It  was  in  this  way  that  Newton 
may  be  said  to  have  created  a  science  of  celestial  dynamics, 
and  that  Bichat  is  sometimes,  and  more  loosely,  said  to  have 
been  the  founder  of  modern  biology.     In  no  such  sense  can 
Comte  be  said  to  have  created  sociology.     Standing  on  the 
vantage-ground  of  contemporary  science,  which  enables  us  to 
discern  in  outline  the  law  of  progress,  we  can  see  not  only 
that   Comte   was    far   from   detecting  that   law,   but    that, 
with  the  limited  appliances  at  his  command,  he  could  not 
have    been    expected   to    discover    it.       Nevertheless    his 
contributions  to   sociology  were   exceedingly  brilliant   and 
valuable,  and  he  did  perhaps  all  that  the  greatest  thinker 
could  have  done  forty  years  ago.     He  arrived  at  a  double 
generalization  of  the  phenomena  of  intellectual  and  material 
progress,   as   wide   as   could  then   be   reached  by  unaided 
historical  induction ;  and  he  verified  this  double  generaliza- 
tion by  an  elaborate  survey  of  ancient  and  modern  history, 
vhich,  even  had  he  written  nothing  else,  would  alone  suffice 
0  make  his  name  immortal.     It  entitles  him,  I  think,  to  be 
ranked  first  among  those    sociologists  who  have   proceeded 
solely   on   the   historical  method, — on   a   somewhat   higher 
plane,  perhaps,  than  Vico  or  Montesquieu,  Turgot  or  Con- 
dorcet.     That  generalization,  in  both  its  branches,  and  in  so 
far  as  it  is  correct,  we  have  here  seen  to  be  a  corollary  from 
the  fundamental  law  of  social  evolution  obtained  m  the  pre-, 


254  COSMIC  PEILOSOPHT.  [vt.  u. 

ceding  chapter.  "We  have  seen  that  the  continuous  adapta- 
tion, both  moral  and  intellectual,  of  the  community  to  its 
environment,  involves,  as  necessary  concomitants,  both  the 
progressive  deanthropomorphization  of  men's  conceptions  of 
Cause,  and  the  gradual  change  from  military  to  industrial 
habits  of  life.  And  the  harmony  between  the  results  thus 
obtained  by  pursuing  two  wholly  independent  lines  of 
inquiry,  adds  fresh  support  both  to  the  fundamental  law  and 
to  its  historic  ccrollaries.  In  the  very  act  of  proving  that 
Comte  did  not  achieve  the  whole,  we  do  but  place  what  he 
did  achiuve  upon  a  deeper  and  fii-mer  basis. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CONDITIONS   OF  PROGRESJIL 

At  the  beginning  of  the  chapter  on  the  Evolution  of  Society 
we  remarked  upon  the  error  of  those  metaphysical  writers 
who  have  gone  so  far  as  to  ascribe  progressiveness  to  an 
occult  tendency  inherent  in  human  nature.  It  need  not 
take  a  very  long  survey  of  human  societies,  past  and  present, 
to  assure  us  that  beyond  a  certain  point  stagnation  has  been 
the  rule  and  progress  the  exception.  Over  a  large  part  of  the 
earth's  surface  the  slow  progress  painfully  achieved  during 
thousands  of  prehistoric  ages  has  stopped  short  with  the 
savage  state,  as  exemplified  by  those  African,  Polynesian,  and 
American  tribes  which  can  neither  work  out  a  civilization 
for  themselves,  nor  appropriate  the  civilization  of  higher 
races  with  whom  they  are  brought  into  contact.  Half  the 
human  race,  having  surmounted  savagery,  have  been  arrested 
in  an  immobile  type  of  civilization,  as  in  China,  in  ancient 
Egypt,  and  in  the  East  generally.  It  is  only  in  the  Aryan 
and  some  of  the  Semitic  races,  together  with  the  Hungarians 
and  other  Finnic  tribes  subjected  to  Aryan  influences,  that 
we  can  find  evidences  of  a  persistent  tendency  to  progress. 
And  that  there  is  no  inherent  race-tendency  at  work  in  this 
is  shown  by  the  fact  that  some  of  the  Aryans,  as  the  Hindus 
and  Persians,  are  among  the  most  unprogressive  of  men.     It 


256  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

becomes  apparent,  therefore,  that  the  progress  of  the  European 
Aryans,  and  of  such  other  races  as  have  from  time  to  time 
arisen  from  an  immobile  condition,  can  have  been  due  only 
to  a  concurrence  of  favourable  circumstances.  In  order  to 
complete  our  outline-sketch  of  the  Evolution  of  Society,  we 
must  consider  some  of  these  circumstances,  and  thus,  so  far 
as  possible,  redeem  the  promise  which  was  implied  at  the 
beginning  of  the  discussion.  By  pointing  out  some  of  the 
conditions  essential  to  progress  in  civilization,  we  must  en- 
deavour to  throw  a  glimmer  of  light  upon  the  fact  that  so 
small  a  portion  of  the  human  race  has  attained  to  per- 
manent progressiveness.  A  faint  glimmer  of  enlightenment 
is  indeed  the  most  we  can  hope  for,  and  even  this  will 
perhaps  be  thought  to  have  been  obtained  by  a  mere  re- 
statement of  the  problem  in  other  words.  ISTevertheless,  in 
other  departments  of  study  as  well  as  in  algebra,  much  good 
is  often  done  by  reducing  a  problem  from  one  form  of  ex- 
pression to  another.  For  if  such  a  reduction  ends  in  classi- 
fying the  problem,  the  first  and  most  important  step  is  taken 
toward  a  solution.  Let  us  deal  in  this  way  with  the  pro- 
blem before  us,  which  is  one  of  the  most  complex  and 
difficult  that  the  history  of  the  world  presents. 

It  will  be  obvious  to  everyone  that  there  is  a  close  kin- 
ship between  this  question  in  sociology  and  the  biological 
question  why  certain  species  remain  unchanged  through 
countless  ages.  The  latter  fact  has  been  urged  as  an  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  the  development  theory,  and  has  been  felt  to 
be  such  by  Dr.  Bastian,  who  has  endeavoured  to  dispose  of 
it  by  an  extraordinary  application  of  his  favourite  theories 
of  archebiosis  and  heterogenesis.-^  But  indeed  those  who 
urge  this  fact  as  an  obstacle,  and  those  who  seek  to  explain 
it  away,  show  that  they  have  not  thoroughly  comprehended 
the  Doctrine  of  Evolution.  For  example,  it  is  not  implied 
in  the  general  law  of  evolution,  as  above  expounded  in 
*  Bastian,  Beginnings  of  Life,  voL  iL  pp.  684 — 640. 


I'H.  XX.]  CONDITIONS  OF  FEOGEESS.  267 

Chapter  IV.,  tliat  -wherever  the  integration  of  matter  and 
concomitant  dissipation  of  motion  are  going  on,  there  must 
always  ensue  a  change  from  indefinite  uniformity  to  definite 
multiformity  of  structure.  As  has  already  been  shown,  such 
a  change  can  be  expected  to  take  place  only  when  a  number 
of  specified  circumstances  concur  in  forwarding  it.  So  it  is 
one  of  the  peculiar  merits  of  Mr.  Darwin's  theory  of  natural 
selection,  that  it  does  not  allege  an  unceasing  or  ubiquitous 
alteration  of  animal  and  vegetal  forms,  but  includes,  in  a 
general  way,  all  cases  of  persistence  of  type,  as  well  as  all 
cases  of  progress  or  retrogression.  One  and  the  same  general 
theory  accounts  for  the  fact  that,  while  some  species  thrive 
in  the  struggle  for  life  and  acquire  new  capacities,  others 
dwindle  in  numbers  or  deteriorate  in  structure,  while  others 
again  maintain  themselves  unchanged  throughout  immense 
periods.  Throughout  all  these  cases,  the  general  truth  is 
easily  discerned  that  the  total  result  will  depend  upon  a  very 
complex  combination  of  circumstances :  the  difficulty  is  in 
applying  the  general  truth  to  the  special  cases  that  arise. 
Probably  no  naturalist  could  point  out  all  the  specific  circum- 
stances which  have  caused  any  one  race  of  animals  to  prevail 
over  another  in  the  struggle  for  life.  Such  a  task  would 
probably  demand  a  more  vast  and  minute  knowledge  of  the 
details  of  the  organic  world  than  it  is  as  yet  possible  for  the 
most  unremitting  industry,  inspired  by  the  highest  genius, 
to  acquire.  Yet  no  one  doubts  the  general  principle  that  it 
is  natural  selection  which  determines,  not  only  which  races 
shall  prevail,  but  also  which  races  shall  vary  and  which  shall 
remain  unmodified.  So  in  dealing  with  human  societies,  in 
the  primitive  era  with  which  the  present  discussion  is  chiefly 
concerned,  the  historic  data  are  insufficient  to  enable  us  to 
ascertain  the  precise  circumstances  to  which  the  prevalence 
and  the  improvability  of  certain  races  are  to  be  attributed. 
N^evertheless  we   can  here,  too,   point   out   sundry  general 

VOL.  II.  S 


259  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [vr.  n. 

principles  in  accordance  with  which  natural  selection  has 
determined  the  course  of  events. 

In  considering  the  action  of  natural  selection  upon  the 
human  race,  we  must  first  note  how  that  action  is,  in  some 
respects,  materially  modified  by  social  conditions.  Among 
mferior  animals,  even  those  which  are  gregarious,  as  the 
ruminants  and  sundry  smaller  carnivora,  the  preservation 
of  any  individual  requires  his  almost  complete  adaptation 
to  surrounding  circumstances.  There  is  so  little  division 
of  labour,  and  consequently  so  little  mutual  assistance,  that 
all  must  be  capable  who  would  survive.  With  the  earliest 
manifestations  of  true  sociality  this  state  of  things  must 
be  somewhat  altered.  Even  in  the  rudest  actual  or  ima- 
ginable society  there  is  some  division  of  labour,  and  some 
mutual  assistance.  Those  who  are  less  swift  for  hunting 
or  less  strong  for  fighting  may  at  least  perform  services  for 
the  hunters  and  warriors,  and  in  return  will  be  more  or 
less  efficiently  fed  and  protected  ;  so  that  those  who  fall 
below  the  average  capability  of  the  race  are  no  longer  sure 
to  be  prematurely  cut  off,  and  thus  the  agency  of  natural 
selection  in  keeping  up  a  nearly  uniform  standard  of  fit- 
ness is  to  some  extent  checked.  In  the  highly  complex 
societies  which  we  call  civilized,  division  of  labour  and  co- 
operation have  done  much  to  obscure  the  effects  of  this 
agency.  From  the  cooperation  which  goes  on  to  a  greater 
or  less  extent  in  all  societies,  and  from  the  enormous  hetero- 
geneity of  man's  psychical  organization,  it  follows  that  there 
are  innumerable  circumstances  which  may  enable  individual 
men  to  survive,  in  spite  of  their  falling  considerably  short  of 
the  normal  standard  of  the  community  and  the  age  to  which 
they  belong.  This  fact,  as  will  hereafter  appear,  renders  it 
possible  for  man  to  have  an  ideal  standard  of  excellence  or 
successfulness  in  life,  and  is  closely  associated  with  the 
genesis  of  the  ethical  feelings  of  approval  and  disapproval. 

But  while  natural  selection  among  individuals  orows  some. 


CH.  XX.]  CONDITIONS  OF  PBOGBESS.  259 

what  less  rigorous,  its  effects  upon  rival  or  antagonist  societies 
are  in  nowise  diminished  in  their  beneficent  severity.  The 
attributes  which  tend  to  make  a  society  strong  and  durable 
with  reference  to  surrounding  societies,  are  the  attributes 
which  natural  selection  will  chiefly  preserve.  As  Mr.  "Wal- 
lace has  pointed  out :  "  Capacity  for  acting  in  concert  for 
protection,  and  for  the  acquisition  of  food  and  shelter ;  sym- 
pathy, which  leads  all  in  turn  to  assist  each  other ;  the 
sense  of  right,  which  checks  depredations  upon  our  fellows  ; 
.  .  .  self-restraint  in  present  appetites ;  and  that  intelligent 
foresight  which  prepares  for  the  future,  are  all  qualities  that 
from  their  earliest  appearance  must  have  been  for  the  benefit 
of  each  community,  and  would  therefore  have  become  the 
subjects  of  natural  selection.  Tribes  in  which  such  mental 
and  moral  qualities  were  predominant,  would  have  an  ad- 
vantage in  the  struggle  for  existence  over  other  tribes  in 
which  they  were  less  developed,  and  would  live  and  main- 
tain their  numbers,  while  the  others  would  decrease  and 
finally  succumb,"  ^ 

The  most  conspicuous  result  of  this  unceasing  operation 
of  natural  selection  upon  rival  communities,  has  been  the 
continuous  increase  of  the  aggregate  military  strength  of 
the  human  race,  and  the  more  and  more  complete  segre- 
gation of  this  military  strength  into  those  portions  of  the 
race  which  are  most  civilized.  As  Mr.  Bagehot  has  ably 
shown,^  however  broken  or  discontinuous  the  progressive 
career  of  the  European  family  of  nations  may  seem  to  have 
been  in  other  respects,  there  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that 
the  increase  of  their  aggregate  military  force  has  been  un- 
interrupted. There  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that  the  total 
Sghting  power  of  the  Mediterranean  communities  was  greater 

*  Wallace,  Natural  Selection,  p.  312. 

•  See  his  Physics  aixd  Politics,  London,  1872, — a  little  book  so  excellent 
both  in  thought  and  in  expression  that  one  cannot  but  wish  there  were  much 
more  of  it. 

8  2 


260  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  it. 

uiider  Trajan  than  in  tlie  time  of  Polybios ;  that  the  sum  of 
Latin  and  Teutonic  strength  in  the  days  of  Charles  Martel 
was  greater  than  in  the  days  of  Marcus  Aurelius ;  that  the 
united  Europe  of  Pope  Gregory  VII.  could  have  vanquished 
the  united  Europe  of  Charles  the  Great,  but  would  have 
been  no  match  for  the  united  Europe  of  Plilip,  Elizabeth, 
and  Henry;  or  that  the  existing  generation  of  Aryans  in 
Europe  and  America  represents  a  greater  quantity  of  mili- 
tary power  than  any  previous  generation.  This  result  is 
partly  due  to  the  mere  increase  of  the  civilized  communities 
in  size  and  industrial  complexity,  and  partly  to  the  integra- 
tion, over  wider  and  wider  areas,  of  communities  previously 
isolated.  But  while  there  have  been  periods  of  intermittence 
in  the  operation  of  these  social  and  political  circumstances, 
as  during  the  Teutonic  reconstruction  of  the  Eoman  Empire, 
the  increase  in  total  fighting  power  appears  to  have  gone  on 
without  intermittence,  showing  that  it  has  been  in  great 
degree  due  to  a  cause  unremitting  in  its  operation.  That 
cause  has  been  natural  selection.  In  the  earlier  and  ruder 
times  it  has  operated  through  the  actual  conquest  of  the 
weaker  tribes,  provinces,  or  cities,  by  the  stronger.  In  later 
and  more  refined  ages,  the  quieter  but  equally  stringent  com- 
petition of  nation  with  nation,  involving  W-iq  possible  conquest 
or  relative  humiliation  of  one  by  another,  has  caused  a  con- 
siderable proportion  of  the  ever-accumulating  intellectual 
and  industrial  acquirements  of  each  nation  to  be  expended 
(or,  as  Mr.  Bagehot  more  happily  says,  "  invested ")  in  an 
increase  of  military  strength. 

From  the  cooperation  of  these  circumstances  the  aggregate 
physical  strength  of  civilized  society  has  increased  so  enor- 
nously  that  in  comparison  with  the  military  events  of  our 
,ime,  the  military  events  of  antiquity  seem  like  mere  child's 
play,  if  we  look  at  physical  dimensions  alone,  and  not  at 
world-historic  significance.  Ignoring  the  latter  point  of  view, 
Mr.  Eobert  Lowe  has  maintained  that  the  battle  of  Marathon 


c!U.  XX.1  CONDITIONS  OF  PBOGBES&  261 

was  an  event  of  less  importance  than  "a  good  colliery 
accident,"  because  forsooth  only  192  lives  were  lost  on  the 
side  of  the  Greeks!^  To  him,  however,  who  has  acquired 
the  habit  of  looking  at  European  history  as  one  connected 
whole,  it  will  not  seem  extravagant  to  say  that  contemporary 
English  civilization  is  indebted  to  the  victory  of  Marathon 
in  a  far  higher  degree  than  to  the  victories  of  Crecy  or 
Agincourt,  or  even  of  Waterloo.  The  immense  relative 
importance  of  some  of  these  ancient  military  events  of  small 
dimensions,  is  due  to  the  fact  that  military  strength  was  not 
then  concentrated  in  the  most  highly  civilized  communities, 
as  it  is  in  modern  times.  In  antiquity  there  was  a  real 
danger  that  the  nascent  civilization  of  higher  type  might  be 
extinguished  by  the  long-established  civilization  of  far  lower 
type,  or  even  by  barbarism,  through  mere  disparity  of 
numbers.  We  do  not  know  how  often  in  prehistoric  times 
some  little  gleam  of  civilization  may  have  been  put  out  by 
an  overwhelming  wave  of  barbarism,  though  by  reason  of 
the  great  military  superiority  which  even  a  little  civilization 
gives,  such  occurrences  are  likely  to  have  been  on  the  whole 
exceptionaL  This  great  superiority  is  well  exemplified  in 
the  ease  with  which  the  Greeks  defeated  ten  times  their  own 
number  of  Asiatics  at  Marathon,  and  afterwards  at  Kynaxa. 
Nevertheless  it  cannot  be  questioned  that  the  invasions  ot 
B.C.  490  and  480  were  fraught  with  serious  danger  to  Grecian 
independence,  and  if  Datis  or  Mardonios  had  happened  to 
possess  the  military  talent  of  Cyrus  or  of  Timour,  the  danger 
Mould  have  been  alarming  indeed.  Now  if  little  Greece  had 
thus  been  swallowed  up  by  giant  Persia,  and  the  nascent 
political  ana  intellectual  freedom  extinguished  in  Athens  aa 
it  was  in  the  Ionic  cities  of  Asia  Minor,  the  entire  future 
history  of  Macedonia,  of  Eome,  and  of  Europe,  would  have 
been  altered  in  a  way  that  is  not  pleasant  to  contemplate. 
When  we  reflect  upon  the  enormous  place  in  human  history 
^  See  Freeman,  Comparative  Politics,  p.  498. 


262  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  {vi.  ii 

•which  is  filled  by  the  products  of  Athenian  intellectual 
activity  during  tlie  two  centuries  succeeding  the  victory 
of  Marathon;  when  we  remember  that  the  foundations  of 
philosophy,  of  exact  science,  of  sesthetic  art  in  all  its 
branches,  of  historic  and  literary  criticism,  and  of  free 
political  discussion,  were  then  and  there  for  ever  securely 
laid ;  when  we  consider  the  widely  ramifying  influences,  now 
obvious  and  now  more  subtle,  of  all  this  intense  productivity 
upon  Roman  ethics  and  jurisprudence,  upon  the  genesis  of 
Christianity,  upon  the  lesser  Eenaissance  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  the  greater  Eenaissance  of  the  fifteenth ;  when 
we  see  how  inseparably  the  life  of  Athens  runs  as  a  woof 
through  the  entire  web  of  European  life  down  to  our  own 
times ; — when  we  come  to  realize  all  this,  we  shall  begin  to 
realize  how  frightful  was  the  danger  from  which  we  were 
rescued  at  Marathon  and  at  Salamis. 

Probably  at  no  subsequent  time  has  European  civilization 
been  in  a  position  of  such  imminent  peril.  In  the  life-and- 
death  struggle  between  Eome  and  Carthage,  the  military 
superiority  belonged  so  decidedly  to  the  more  highly-evolved 
community  that  even  the  unrivalled  genius  of  Hannibal  was 
powerless  to  turn  the  scale.^  One  of  the  most  conspicuous 
features  in  Roman  history,  from  the  conquest  of  Spain  by 
Scipio  to  the  conquest  of  the  Saxons  by  Charles  the  Great, 
was  the  continual  taming  of  the  brute  force  of  barbarism, 
and  the  enlisting  it  on  the  side  of  civilization.  In  the 
earlier  times  there  seems  to  have  been  real  danger  in  the 
invasions  of  Brennus  and  of  the  Cimbri,  and  perhaps  in  that 
of  Ariovistus.  But  with  the  conquest  of  Gaul  and  the 
more  subtle  process  of  Eomauization  which  the  Teutons 
underwent,  the  danger  from  these  sources  disappeared,  until, 
when  the  great  struggle  with  outer  barbarism  came  in  the 
fifth  century,  we  see  the  Empire  saved  on  a  Gaulish  field  by 
the  prowess  of  the  West-Goth.  The  battle  of  Chalons  seems 
*  See  Arnold,  History  of  Rome,  voL  iiL  p.  68. 


CH.  XX.]  CONDITIONS  OF  PROGEESS.  263 

to  me  to  Lave  been  the  last  of  the  great  fights  in  which  the 
further  continuance  of  European  civilization  was  really 
imperilled.  Though  the  victory  of  Attila  could  hardly  have 
entailed  the  reharbarizing  of  the  whole  Empire,  it  might  well 
have  caused  such  a  temporary  "  solution  of  continuity"  between 
ancient  and  modern  history  as  the  old  historians  supposed  to 
have  been  wrought  a  few  years  later  by  the  comparatively 
insignificant  intrigues  of  Odoacer.  Many  hard- working  years 
might  have  been  needed  to  recover  the  ground  thus  lost. 
But  in  passing  to  the  eighth  century,  I  think  we  may  well 
doubt  the  soundness  of  Gibbon's  suggestion  that  the  victory 
of  Abderahman  at  Tours  might  have  led  to  the  Moham- 
medanization  of  Europe ;  for  while  one  great  defeat  forced  the 
Arab  to  retire  behind  the  Pyrenees,  on  the  other  hand  the 
complete  overthrow  of  the  Frankish  power  would  probably 
have  required  many  battles  as  fierce  as  this  one.  This 
increased  toughness  of  civilization  is  still  more  plainly  seen 
five  centuries  later,  when  the  overwhelming  victory  of  the 
Mongols  at  Liegnitz  produced  no  effect  at  all  beyond  a 
temporary  scare.  It  was  not  that  the  invasion  under  Batu 
was  intrinsically  less  formidable  than  the  invasion  of  Attila, 
but  that  the  physical  strength  of  civilized  Europe  had  been 
growing  throughout  the  long  interval,  so  that  the  blow  which 
might  once  have  proved  fatal  was  no  longer  dangerous. 
Since  the  fruitless  sieges  of  Vienna  by  the  Turks,  the  mere 
dread  of  barbaric  or  semi-barbaric  invasion  has  passed  away 
for  ever.  Tribally-organized  barbarism  is  henceforth  out  of 
the  lists  entirely,  and  even  the  civilization  of  lower  type  has 
ceased  to  compete,  in  a  military  way,  with  the  civilization  of 
higher  type. 

Thus  we  see  how  natural  selection,  facilitating  and  co- 
operating with  the  integration  of  the  more  civilized  communi- 
ties and  their  increase  in  size  and  complexity,  has  gradually 
removed  one  of  the  dangers  to  which  the  earlier  civilizations 
were  exposed,  and  has  concentrated  the  power  of  making 


264  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  L"--ii- 

war  on  a  grand  scale  into  the  hands  of  those  communities  in 
which  predatory  activity  is  at  the  minimum  and  industrial 
activity  at  the  maximum.  We  are  thus  again  reminded  of 
the  curiously  cooperating  processes,  partially  illustrated  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  through  which  warfare  or  destructive 
competition,  once  ubiquitous,  is  becoming  evanescent,  and 
giving  place  to  a  competition  that  is  industrial  or  productive 
in  character.  But  what  now  more  especially  concerns  us  is 
to  look  back  to  the  earlier  stages  of  the  struggle  for  life 
between  communities,  and  to  observe  some  of  the  circuru- 
stances  which  must  have  tended  to  make  some  communities 
prevail  over  others. 

The  illustrations  just  cited  show  well  enough  the  tendency 
of  the  higher  type  of  civilization  to  prevail,  in  the  long  run, 
over  the  lower  type.  They  are  illustrations  of  the  military 
advantages  of  civilization.  And  Mr.  Bagehot  has  incidentally 
shown  how  thoroughly  this  fact  disposes  of  the  old-fashioned 
doctrine  that  modern  savages  are  the  degraded  descendants 
of  civilized  ancestors.  It  was  formerly  assumed  that,  in- 
stead of  mankind  having  arisen  out  of  primeval  savagery, 
modern  savages  have  fallen  from  a  primeval  state  of  civili- 
zation, having  lost  the  arts,  the  morality,  and  the  intelligence 
which  they  once  possessed ;  and  of  late  years  some  such 
thesis  as  this  has  been  overtly  maintained  by  the  Duke  of 
Argyll.  Such  a  falling  off,  upon  any  extensive  scale,  is  in 
every  way  incompatible  with  the  principle  of  natural  selec- 
tion. Take,  for  example,  the  ability  to  anticipate  future 
contingencies, — to  abstain  to-day  that  we  may  enjoy  to- 
morrow. In  the  next  chapter  it  will  be  shown  that  this  is 
the  most  prominent  symptom  of  the  deepest  of  all  the  intel- 
lectual differences  between  civilization  and  savagery.  Now, 
obviously,  the  ability  to  postpone  present  to  future  enjoy- 
ment is,  in  a  mere  economic  or  military  aspect,  such  an  im- 
portant acquisition  to  any  race  or  group  of  men,  that  when 
BDC©  acquired  it  could  never  be  lost.     The  race  possessing 


CH.  XX.J  CONDITIONS  OF  PEOGBESS.  265 

this  capacity  could  by  no  popsiLility  yield  ground  to  the 
races  lacking  it,  unless  overwhelmed  by  sheer  weight  of 
vastly  superior  numbers, — a  case  which  the  hypothesis  of  a 
universal  primitive  civilization  does  not  leave  room  for.  Or 
take  the  ready  belief  in  omens  by  which  the  life  of  the 
savage  is  so  terribly  hampered.  Could  a  single  tribe  in  old' 
Australia  have  surmounted  the  necessity  of  searching  for 
omens  before  undertaking  any  serious  business,  it  would 
inevitably,  says  Mr.  Bagehot,  have  subjugated  all  the  other 
tribes  on  the  continent.  In  like  manner  it  is  obvious  that 
such  implements  as  the  bow  and  arrow  and  the  iron  swords 
or  hatchets  could  never  have  given  place  to  the  boomerang 
and  the  knives  and  hatchets  of  stone  or  bronze ;  and 
the  intellectual  capacity  implied  in  monotheism  and  the 
discovery  of  elementary  geometry  could  never  have  been 
conquered  out  of  existence  by  the  intellectual  capacity  im- 
plied in  fetishism  and  the  inability  to  count  above  three  or 
four.  So,  because  the  men  who  possess  the  attributes  of 
civilization  must  necessarily  prevail,  in  the  long  run,  over 
the  men  who  lack  these  attributes,  it  follows  that  there 
cannot  have  been,  in  prehistoric  times,  a  general  loss  of  the 
attributes,  external  and  internal,  of  civilization. 

Now  one  of  the  attributes  which  will  most  surely  give  to 
any  group  of  men  an  advantage  in  the  competition  with 
neighbouring  groups,  is  the  presence  of  a  powerful  bond  of 
union  between  its  members.  Our  entire  survey  of  social 
evolution  shows  vhat  one  of  the  most  distinctive  character- 
istics of  civilized  men  is  their  capacity  for  acting  in  concert 
with  one  another  over  wider  and  wider  areas.  The  next 
chapter  will  enable  us  more  fully  to  understand  that  the 
acquirement  of  this  capacity  is  simply  a  further  prolonging 
of  the  extension  of  correspondences  in  time  and  space  which 
has  been  shown  to  be  a  leading  characteristic  of  psychical 
progress  throughout  the  organic  world.  The  growth  of  this 
capacity,  during  historic  times,  has  been  a  complex  result  of 


266  COSMIC  PEILOSOFHY,  [pt.  ii. 

the  increase  of  progressive  communities,  in  size,  in  hetero- 
geneity, and  in  reciprocity  of  intercourse.  For  this  many-sided 
development  has  not  only  entailed  a  relative  weakening  of 
the  more  anti-social  impulses  and  a  complicated  interlacing 
of  the  interests  of  communities  and  individuals,  but  it  has 
also  entailed  a  general  widening  and  diversifying  of  intellec- 
tual experiences,  enabling  men  to  realize  the  desirableness  of 
those  remoter  ends  which  are  indirectly  secured  by  concerted 
action  over  wide  areas.  Thus  in  a  high  state  of  civilization 
a  large  amount  of  concerted  action  is  ensured  by  the  opera- 
tion of  the  ordinary  incentives  to  individual  activity,  without 
the  aid  of  extraordinary  incentives  especially  embodied  in 
governmental  edicts,  political,  sacerdotal,  or  ceremonial.  But 
in  a  primitive  state  of  society  it  is  quite  otherwise.  It  is 
notorious  that  uncivilized  men  cannot  be  made  to  act  in 
concert  save  under  the  stimulus  of  loyalty  to  a  chief,  or  of 
reverence  for  some  superstition,  or  of  slavish  obedience  to 
time-honoured  custom.  Hence  in  early  times  those  commu- 
nities are  most  likely  to  prevail,  in  w^hich  loyalty,  reverence, 
and  obedience  are  most  strongly  developed.  From  a  military 
point  of  view  there  are  hardly  any  other  advantages  w^hich  can 
outweigh  these.  Eigidity  in  family-relationships  is  one  in- 
stance in  which  these  advantages  are  manifested.  A  commu- 
nity in  which  thepatriapotesfas  is  thoroughly  established  must 
inevitably  subjugate  those  rival  communities  in  which  kin- 
ship is  reckoned  through  females  only.  The  common-sense 
of  the  old  historians  perceived  and  insisted  upon  the  fact 
that  much  of  the  marvellous  success  of  the  Eoman  common- 
wealth was  traceable  to  strictness  of  family-discipline.  lu 
like  manner,  as  Mr.  Bagehot  has  suggested,  we  may  discern 
the  true  social  function  performed  by  those  dreadful  religions 
of  early  times  which  so  naturally  awakened  l^xathing  and 
horror  in  such  thinkers  as  Lucretius:  they  enforced,  with 
tremendous  sanctions,  such  lines  of  conduct  as  were  pre- 
Ecribed  by  the  necessities  of  the  primitive  community ;  they 


CH.  XX.]  CONDITIONS  OF  PB0GEES3,  S67 

rend'^T-ed  it  easier  to  ensure  concerted  action  among  men  by 
compelling  all  to  act  in  conformity  to  some  unchangeable 
rule. 

In  short,  among  numerous  tribal  groups  of  primitive  men, 
those  will  prevail  in  the  struggle  for  existence  in  which 
the  lawless  tendencies  of  individuals  are  most  thoroughly 
subordinated  by  the  yoke  of  tyrannical  custom, — the  only 
yoke  which  uncivilized  men  can  be  made  to  wear.  Such 
communities  will  grow  at  the  expense  of  tribes  that  are 
less,  law-abiding.  It  matters  comparatively  little,  as  Mr. 
Bagehot  says,  whether  the  tyrant  custom  be  intrinsically 
good  or  bad  :  the  great  thing,  at  first,  is  to  subject  men's 
individualities  to  a  system  of  common  habits.  Mr.  Mill  has 
complained,  in  his  work  on  "  Liberty "  and  elsewhere,  that 
one  of  the  characteristics  of  modern  civilization  is  the  dis- 
appearance of  strongly-marked  individualities,  such  as  we 
find  in  mediaeval  and  in  ancient  civilization.  But  surely 
he  is  quite  mistaken  in  this, — and  his  mistake  arises 
partly  from  neglect  of  the  circumstance  that  in  ancient 
and  in  feudal  times  the  full  manifestation  of  one  powerful 
individuality  was  achieved  only  through  the  utter  sinking 
of  many  weaker  individualities,  and  partly  from  the  fallacy 
of  taking  the  unparalleled  community  of  Athens  as  a  type 
)f  ancient  communities  in  general  Surely  in  no  previous 
age  has  there  been  anytliing  like  so  wide  a  scope  for  the 
manifestation  of  strongly-marked  individuality  of  thought 
or  character  as  in  the  present  age.  It  would,  indeed,  be 
hardly  too  much  to  say  that  this  is  the  first  age  in  human 
history  which  has  given  us  a  realizing  foretaste  of  the 
time  when  freedom  of  thought  and  freedom  of  action  shall 
uot  only  be  acknowledged  as  a  right  but  insisted  upon  as 
a  duty  for  all  men.  But  this  is  due  to  the  fact  that  men's 
natures  have,  through  long  ages  of  social  discipline,  be- 
come in  some  degree  adapted  to  the  social  state.  This 
relatively  free  recognition  of  idiosyncrasies  in  thought  oi 


268  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [ft.  ii. 

demeanour  shows  that  modern  society  can  count  upon  an 
organic  or  instinctive  conformity  to  law  on  tlie  part  of 
individuals,  upon  which  ancient  society  could  not  count. 
In  early  times,  freedom  from  the  yoke  of  custom  meant 
simple  lawlessness ;  and  against  such  disintegrating  lawless- 
ness all  the  most  formidable  sanctions  which  society  could 
devise  were  brought  to  bear.  Hence  the  feeling  of  corporate 
responsibility  is  universal  among  primitive  societies.  "  Not 
only  the  mutilators  of  the  Hernial,  but  all  the  Athenians — 
not  only  the  violator  of  the  rites  of  the  Bona  Dea,  but  all 
the  Eomans — are  liable  to  the  curse  engendered ;  and  so 
all  through  ancient  history."  In  sucTi  a  stage  of  mental 
development,  the  community  as  a  whole  is  beset  with 
perpetual  anxiety  concerning  the  words  and  deeds  of  its 
members;  and  it  is  to  a  great  extent  from  this  sense  of 
corporate  responsibility  that  persecution  for  heresy  in  opinion 
or  eccentricity  in  behaviour  is  ultimately  derived. 

The  inference  from  all  these  considerations  is  obvious. 
Tribes  with  the  strongest  sense  of  corporate  responsibility, 
with  the  most  rigid  family-relationships,  the  most  despotic 
yoke  of  custom,  go  on  growing  through  long  ages  at  the  ex- 
pense of  rival  tribes  in  which  the  means  for  securing  con- 
certed action  over  wide  areas  are  less  perfect.  Age  after  age 
Bome  competing  tribes  are  exterminated  or  enslaved,  while 
others  are  absorbed  by  the  victorious  tribe  and  assimilated  to 
it ;  and  thus  age  after  age  the  bond  of  tyrannical  custom 
becomes  stronger  and  more  rigid,  while  it  extends  over  wider 
areas  and  constrains  a  larger  number  of  people  to  uniformity 
of  behaviour.  Such  a  process  will  naturally  result  in  the 
formation  of  a  huge  social  "  aggregate  of  the  first  order,"  as 
in  Egypt,  Assyria,  China,  Mexico,  and  Peru.  The  common 
shuracteristic  of  these  civilizations  of  lower  type  is  that 
their  growth  in  size  has  been  out  of  all  proportion  to  their 
Increase  in  structural  heterogeneity.  Though  they  may 
contain  many  cities,  they  contain  nothing  like  the  civic  type 


tH.  XX.]  CONDITIONS  OF  PE0GBES3,  269 

of  social  organization,  as  seen  in  Greece  and  Italy  ;  and 
though  they  have  taken  on  the  semblance  of  nations,  yet 
they  lack  the  fundamental  conception  of  true  Nationality, — 
the  union  of  individuals  through  community  of  interests, 
rather  than  through  physical  community  of  descent.^  In 
all  these  half-civilized  societies,  we  find  that  the  primitive 
tribal  or  patriarchal  mode  of  structure  is  simply  expanded 
without  being  essentially  altered.  The  family  is  still  the 
unit  of  society,  the  sense  of  corporate  responsibility  is  still 
powerful,  individual  careers  are  still  determined  by  status 
and  not  by  contract,  originality  in  opinion  or  in  demeanour 
is  still  prohibited  by  the  most  formidable  legal  or  social 
penalties ;  the  tyranny  of  custom,  in  short,  is  still  paramount, 
and — to  crown  all — the  three  kinds  of  governmental  agency, 
political,  ecclesiastical,  and  ceremonial,  are  still  concentrated 
in  the  person  of  tlie  patriarchal  ruler,  who  is  at  once  king, 
chief-priest  or  vice-deity,  and  master  of  ceremonies. 

Observe,  now,  the  dilemma  which  seems  to  confront  us. 
In  the  operation  of  natural  selection  upon  primitive  tribes, 
we  seem  to  have  found  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  the 
growth  of  such  social  "  aggregates  of  the  first  order " 
as  China  or  old  Mexico.  But  now,  how  are  we  going  to 
get  past  this  stage?  How  shall  we  account  for  the  forma- 
tion of  social  aggregates  of  a  higher  type  ?   The  problem  now 

*  In  antiquity  the  only  conceivable  bond  of  social  union  was  community  of 
descent,  actual  or  fictitious.  Even  the  conception  of  territorial  proximity  as 
a  source  of  common  action  did  not  gain  currency  in  Europe  till  towards  the 
tenth  century  of  the  Christian  era.  Theodoric  the  East-Goth,  whom  the  old 
historians  called  "  King  of  Italy,"  would  not  have  understood  the  meaning  of 
the  phrase.  In  those  days  a  man  could  be  king  of  a  group  of  kindred 
people,  without  reference  to  locality,  but  such  a  thing  as  kingship  of  a  geo- 
graphical area  was  unintelligible.  The  modern  nationality  (of  which  the 
United  States  is  perhaps  the  most  perfect  type)  is  founded  upon  the  thorough 
subordination  of  the  patriarchal  theoiy  of  community  in  blood  to  the  modem 
theory  of  community  in  interests.  The  so-called  "doctrine  of  nationalities," 
about  which  so  much  sentimental  nonsense  has  been  written,  ought  rather  to 
be  called  the  "  doctrine  of  races,"  since  it  is  virtually  a  revival  of  the  patri- 
archal theory.  It  may  be  truly  said  that,  in  spite  of  greater  ethnic  diversity, 
Switzerland,  for  example,  is  in  many  respects  more  completely  a  national!^ 
tbaa  Spain. 


270  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHT.  [pt.  ii. 

before  us  is  how  to  relax  the  tyranny  of  custom,  and  thus 
afford  a  chance  for  social  reorganization,  without  entailing  a 
retrogression  toward  primeval  lawlessness.  It  is  one  of  the 
puzzles  of  sociology  that  the  very  state  of  things  which  is 
pre-eminently  useful  in  bringing  men  out  of  savagery  is 
also  likely  to  be  pre-eminently  in  the  way  of  their  attaining 
to  a  persistently  progressive  civilization.  "No  one,"  says 
Mr.  Bagehot,  "  will  ever  comprehend  the  arrested  civiliza- 
tions unless  he  sees  the  strict  dilemma  of  early  society. 
Either  men  had  no  law  at  all,  and  lived  in  confused  tribes, 
hardly  hanging  together,  or  they  had  to  obtain  a  fixed  law 
by  processes  of  incredible  difficulty.  Those  who  surmounted 
that  difficulty  soon  destroyed  all  those  that  lay  in  their  way 
who  did  not.  And  then  they  themselves  were  caught  in 
their  own  yoke.  The  customary  discipline,  which  could  only 
be  imposed  on  any  early  men  by  terrible  sanctions,  con- 
tinued with  those  sanctions,  and  killed  out  of  the  whole 
society  the  propensities  to  variation  which  are  the  principle 
of  progress."  * 

IMr.  Bagehot  shows  that  this  problem  has  never  been 
successfully  solved  except  where  a  race,  rendered  organically 
law-abiding  through  some  discipline  of  the  foregoing  kind,  has 
been  thrown  into  emulative  conflict  with  other  races  simi- 
larly disciplined, — a  condition  which  has  been  completely 
fulfilled  only  in  the  case  of  the  migrating  Aryans  who  settled 
Europe,  But  before  we  can  extricate  ourselves  from  our 
Beeming  dilemma,  we  need  to  point  out,  more  distinctly 
than  Mr.  Bagehot  has  done,  that  in  all  probability  none  of 
the  progressive  Aryan  races  has  ever  passed  through  any- 
thing corresponding  to  the  Chinese  or  Egyptian  stage,  and  that 
when  a  community  has  once  got  into  such  a  state  of  fixity,  it 
is  really  questionable  whether  it  can  ever  get  out  of  it,  unless 
under  the  direct  tuition  of  other  communities.  It  would  at 
present  be  premature  to  speculate  upon  the  results  which 

*  Physics  and  Politics,  p.  67. 


CH.  XX.]  CONDITIONS  OF  PBOQBESS.  271 

are  likely  to  flow  from  British  dominion  in  Hindustan,  or 
from  the  intrusion  of  European  ideas  into  Japan  and  China. 
Looking  to  the  past  only,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  when  the 
"  cake  of  custom  "  has  become  so  firmly  cemented,  and  on 
such  a  great  scale,  as  in  these  primitively-organized  commu- 
nities, there  is  but  little  likelihood  of  its  getting  broken.  The 
Oriental  stage — if  one  may  so  call  it — is  not  a  stage  through 
which  progressive  nations  pass,  but  it  is  a  stage  in  which 
further  progress  is  impossible,  save  through  the  occurrence 
of  some  deep-reaching  social  revolution.  The  progressive 
races  are  just  those  which  have  in  some  way  avoided  this 
dilemma, — which  have  succeeded  in  securing  concerted  action 
among  individuals  without  going  so  far  as  to  kill  out  the 
tendency  to  individual  variations.  Historically  we  find  no 
traces  of  primitive  political  despotism  among  the  European 
Aryans.  Alike  among  Greeks,  Italians,  Teutons,  and  Slaves, 
we  find  the  elements  of  a  free  constitution  at  hand,  and  the 
"  age  of  discussion "  inaugurated,  at  the  very  beginnings  of 
recorded  history.  Though  society  is  still  constructed  on  the 
patriarchal  type,  there  is  nevertheless  an  amount  of  relative 
mobility  among  the  social  units  such  as  is  not  witnessed 
either  in  Oriental  despotisms  or  among  modern  savages. 

I  believe,  therefore,  that  the  character  of  the  dilemma  is 
eomewhat  inadequately  represented  by  Mr.  Bagehot,  It  is  not 
quite  true  that  in  a  progressive  society  the  "  cake  of  custom  " 
must  first  be  cemented  as  firmly  as  possible,  and  then  after- 
wards broken.  For  when  the  cementing  passes  beyond  a 
certain  point,  the  breaking  becomes  impracticable.  The 
dilemma  consists  rather  in  the  fact  that  in  a  progressive 
society  the  cementing  and  the  breaking  of  the  "cake  of 
custom  "  must  go  on  simultaneously.  Observe  the  seeming 
contradiction. 

While  it  is  perfectly  true  that  the  power  of  concerted 
action  on  a  large  scale  gives  to  the  community  possessing  it 
a  decided  military  advantage,  and  while  it  is  true  that  iu 


272  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.  ii. 

early  times  this  power  of  cooperation  can  liardly  "be  gained 
save    through  the    uniformity  of  discipline  prescribed   by 
tyrannical  custom,  it  is  also  true  that  a  considerable  amount 
of  individual  variability  is,  even  in  early  times,  a  source  of 
military  strength  to  the  community.     For  in  all  stages  of 
progress  the  law  holds  good  that,  in  order  to  ensure  a  per- 
manent supply  of  first-rate  individual  excellence,  whether  in 
intellect  or  in  character,  there  must  be  perpetual  variation, — 
the  members  of   the  community  must  not  all  conform  to 
precisely  the  same  standard  of  belief  or  action.     It  is  nob 
simply  that  out  of  the  conflict  of  opinions  there  comes  an 
increase   of  mental   power,   but   it   is   that  where  absolute 
uniformity  of  opinion  is  enforced,  the  very  individuals  most 
capable  of  serving  the  community  by  reason  of  superior 
mental  power  are  neglected,  thwarted,  or  killed  off.     The 
truth  is  not  yet  wholly  trite  that  the  most  valuable  men  of 
every  age  are  its  heretics.     For  this  truth  is  obscured  by  the 
kindred  truth  that  the  heresy  of  one  age  is  the  orthodoxy 
of  the  next, — so  that  complacent  orthodoxy,  ignoring  the 
historical  point  of  view,  is  wont  to  claim  as  its  allies  to-day 
the  very  men  whom  it  burnt  or  crucified  in  days  gone  by. 
Obviously  it  is  in  the  nature  of   things  that  this  should 
be  so.     If  old-established  ideas  were  never  to  be  unsettled, 
new  truths  would  cease  to  find  recognition,  and  progress 
would  be  at  an  end.     But  in  any  age  the  discoverers  and 
promulgators  of   new  truths  are  to  be  found  only  among 
those  who  possess  the  superior  mental  flexibility  requisite 
for    shaking   themselves    loose    from  the   network   of  old- 
established   ideas.       And   wherever   there   is   such   mental 
flexibility,  there  is  sure  to  be  heresy.     Above  all  is  this  true 
in   early  communities,  for  in    these   later   times   we   have 
become  so  far  accustomed  to  variations  in  belief  and  practice, 
and  have  so  far  substituted  individual  for  corporate  responsi- 
bility, that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  variation  which  we  do 
not  count  as  heresy,  but  which  formerly  would  have  been 


CH.  XX.]  CONDITIONS  OF  PROGRESS.  273 

regarded  as  such.  Hence  in  an  early  community,  the  enforce- 
ment of  absohite  uniformity  of  belief  and  practice  must 
establish  a  kind  of  natural  selection  tending  to  weed  out  all 
superior  flexibility  of  mind.  As  a  direct  result  the  community 
closes  up  a  prolific  source  of  military  superiority  in  the 
shape  of  individual  political  and  military  genius ;  for  meu 
of  the  Themistokles  type  are  not  produced,  as  a  rule,  in  such 
states  of  society.  The  indirect  result  will  be  more  fully 
appreciated  when  the  next  chapter  has  shown  us  how  closely 
mental  flexibility  is  implicated  with  that  power  of  represent- 
ing objects  and  relations  remote  from  sense  which  also 
underlies  the  invaluable  power  of  anticipating  future  emer- 
gencies. To  weed  out  superior  flexibility  of  mind  is  to 
check  further  development  in  forethought  or  longheadedness, 
— a  truth  of  which  the  entire  history  of  the  Oriental  com- 
munities, so  unlike  each  other  in  many  respects,  is  one  long 
and  reiterated  confirmation.  Still  further,  when  we  recall 
the  patent  fact  that  the  efficiency  of  any  community  is 
measured  by  the  efficiency  of  its  individual  members,  and 
that  this  efficiency  is  kept  up  by  a  kind  of  natural  selection 
wliich  is  none  the  less  potent  for  not  working  with  the  death- 
penalty  as  among  lower  animals,  we  shall  realize  how  great 
is  the  military  advantage  entailed  by  free  variation  and  com- 
petition. In  illustration  of  all  this  we  may  recur  to  a 
historical  event  already  cited  for  other  purposes.  When  the 
Mede,  whose  laws  were  quoted  as  the  very  type  of  unchange- 
ableness,  sought  to  add  to  his  overgrown  dominions  the 
modest  patrimony  of  the  Athenian,  of  whom  it  was  said 
that  he  was  ever  curious  after  new  and  unheard-of  things, 
the  wager  of  battle  resulted  in  no  doubtful  verdict.  When 
it  is  ask(^-d  how  IMiltiades,  with  his  ten  thousand,  could  so 
quickly  put  to  flight  Datis,  with  his  hundred  thousand,  the 
unhesitating  reply  is  that  the  result  was  due  to  the  superior 
social  organization  under  which  the  ten  thousand  were  reared. 
But  this  superiority  of  organization  consisted  mainly  in  the 
VOL.  II.  T 


274  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHT.  [pt.  tt 

fact  that  the  individual  career  of  the  Mede  was  prescribed 
by  unvarying  tradition,  while  the  maxim  upon  which  the 
Atlienian  implicitly  acted  was  La  carriere  ouverte  aux  talents. 

These  are  some  of  the  military  advantages  of  INIr.  Bagehot's 
*'  age  of  discussion."  But  in  truth  they  are  advantages  which 
do  not  belong  exclusively  to  any  age  or  to  any  epoch  of 
development,  but  are  operative  at  all  times,  though  in  dif- 
ferent ages  and  communities  their  action  is  diversely  com- 
plicated with  the  action  of  the  opposite  advantages  previously 
considered.  Mr.  Bagehot's  error — if  it  be  real  and  not  merely 
apparent — ^lies  in  describing  as  purely  successive  circum- 
stances which  must  have  been  in  great  degree  simultaneous. 
The  "  strict  dilemma  of  early  society  "  is  not  that  the  fetters 
of  tyrannical  custom  must  first  be  riveted  and  afterwards 
unriveted,  but  that  they  must  be  riveted  and  nnriveted  at 
the  same  time  in  communities  which  are  destined  to  attain 
to  permanent  progressiveness.  On  the  one  hand  we  have 
seen  that  primitive  societies  in  which  uniformity  of  belief 
and  practice  is  most  sternly  enforced,  will  prevaU  in  the 
struggle  for  life.  On  the  other  hand  we  have  seen  that 
primitive  societies  in  which  flexibility  of  mind  is  most 
encouraged,  will  come  out  uppermost.  And  herein  lies  the 
seeming  dilemma  or  coutradiction. 

In  reality,  however,  as  the  whole  question  is  one  of  war- 
fare, so  it  is  practically  a  struggle  for  life  between  these  two 
principles.  Into  the  numberless  combinations  of  circum- 
stances wdiich  have  given  the  victory  now  to  one  side  and 
now  to  the  other,  we  cannot  inquire,  from  lack  of  historical 
data.  On  general  grounds  we  may  admit  that,  at  the  outset, 
uniformity  must  have  been  a  more  important  possession  than 
flexibility ;  we  can  plainly  see  how  those  communities  that 
conquered  by  means  of  uniformity  became  caught,  as  it 
were,  in  their  own  toils,  and  were  estopped  from  further 
progression;  and  we  can  see  how  those  communities  that 
won  the  day  by  preserving  a  modicum  of  flexibility  have 


oe.  xr.]  CONDITIONS  OF  PROGRESS.  275 

been  rewarded  by  unlimited  progressiveness.  We  can  thus 
dimly  discern  the  way  in  which  China  has  become  immobile, 
while  Europe  has  become  ever  more  and  more  mobile.  But 
beyond  these  most  general  indications  of  what  has  happened, 
we  can  discern  but  little.  We  cannot  tell  precisely,  for 
example,  why  the  European  Aryans  won  the  day  by  preserv- 
ing a  modicum  of  flexibility,  rather  than  by  enforcing  such  a 
monotony  of  disposition  as  would  kill  out  all  flexibility.  At 
the  earliest  dawn  of  history  the  European  portion  of  the 
Aryan  race  already  surpasses  all  other  races,  both  in  individual 
variety  of  character  and  in  longheadedness.  The  details  of 
the  process  by  which  this  superiority  was  gained  are  hidden 
from  us  in  the  night  of  time.  Upon  one  point,  however,  we 
may  profitably  speculate.  Among  all  the  historic  civiliza- 
tions, the  European  is  the  one  of  which  we  can  most  de- 
cidedly assert  that  it  is  not  autochthonous.  The  Aryans 
who  conquered  Europe  in  successive  Keltic,  Italo-Hellenic, 
Teutonic,  and  Slavonic  swarms,  were  not  the  quiet,  conser- 
vative, stay-at-home  people  of  prehistoric  antiquity,  but 
were  rather  the  elect  of  all  the  most  adventuro-:is  and 
flexible-minded  portions  of  the  tribally-organized  population 
of  Central  Asia.  Their  invasion  of  Europe  was  in  this 
respect  like  the  subsequent  invasion  of  England  by  the  mis- 
cellaneous hordes  roughly  described  as  Angles  and  Saxons, 
Danes  and  Normans,  and  like  the  still  later  colonization  of 
Xorth  America  by  the  most  mobile  and  adventurous  elements 
of  West-European  society.  We  may  fairly  suppose  that  the 
Aryan  invaders  of  Europe  were  the  most  supple-minded  of 
their  race, — the  "  come-outers,"  perhaps,  for  whom  the  cako 
of  custom  at  home  was  getting  too  firmly  cemented,  but  who 
had  undergone  suSicient  social  discipline  to  enable  them  to 
get  along  with  a  less  solid  cake  in  future.  However  this 
*jiay  be,  the  main  point  is  that  they  were  not  aborigines  but 
colonizers,  and  as  such  were  subjected  to  a  great  hetera 
geneity  oi  environing  circumstances  from  the  time  when  '^e 

T  2 


276  COSMIC  FHILOSOPEY.  [ft.  iu 

first  catcli  sight  of  them.  They  were  the  pioneers  or  Yankees 
of  prehistoric  antiqiiity,  in  whom  unusual  flexibleness  of 
mind  was  the  natural  result  of  continual  change  in  the  sets 
of  relations  to  which  they  were  obliged  to  make  their  theories 
and  actions  conform.  Prehistoric  antiquity  presents  no  other 
case  like  this.  The  great  immobile  civilizations  appear  to 
have  grown  up  in  comparatively  well-protected  regions, 
where  competition  with  outlying  communities  was  checked 
at  an  early  date.  Screened  in  this  way  from  intercourse 
with  the  outside  world,  and  adapting  themselves  to  an  en- 
vironment which  altered  but  little,  there  was  nothing  which 
could  serve  to  shake  them  loose  from  their  monotony  of 
discipline.  A  more  extreme  instance  of  a  kindred  pheno- 
menon is  seen  in  the  fact  that  in  those  protected  corners  of 
the  world  where  competition  has  always  been  at  a  mini- 
mum, we  find  the  smallest  conceivable  amount  of  progress 
from  utter  bestial  savagery.  That  same  isolation  which  has 
kept  the  flora  and  fauna  of  Australia  in  such  a  backward 
state  that  they  are  now  melting  away  before  the  imported 
plants  and  animals  of  Europe  as  snow  melts  under  a  vernal 
sun, — that  same  isolation  has  retained  the  Australian  man 
until  this  day  at  the  lowest  level  of  humanity.  Similar 
things  might  be  said  of  the  Fuegians,  the  Andaman  Islanders, 
and  some  of  the  hill-tribes  of  aboriginal  non- Aryan  Hindus. 
Where  there  has  been  least  competition  and  least  natural 
selection,  there  has  been  least  progress  from  savagery.  Now 
returning  to  the  immobile  civilizations,  when  we  bear  in  mind 
that  of  the  two  conflicting  elements  of  military  advantage, 
uniformity  was  likely  to  be  of  most  importance  at  first  and 
flexibility  afterwards,  we  may  begin  to  discern,  I  think,  that 
where  competition  ceased  at  an  early  date,  uniformity  may 
well  have  carried  the  day  and  crushed  out  flexibility  alto- 
gether. Herein  we  have  an  excellent  explanation  of  the 
immobility  of  Egypt,  China,  Peru,  and.  Mexico;  and  with 
Bome  further  qualifications  an  analogous  case  might  be  made 


cu.  XX.-]  CONDITIONS  OF  PROGEESS.  277 

out  for  Assyria  and  Northern  India.  But  no  suc"h  early 
cessation  of  competition  could  have  occurred  in  the  case  of 
our  Aryan  forefathers.  Little  as  we  know  concerning  the 
circumstances  of  their  prehistoric  development,  we  know  at 
least  that  it  took  place  on  the  great  highway  between  the 
teeming  mainland  of  Asia  and  the  coveted  peninsula  of  Europe. 
In  tliis  swarming  region  there  was  kept  up  until  quite  recent 
times  that  intense  competition  of  tril^e  with  tribe  which  had 
all  but  died  out  in  Egypt  and  China  before  the  dawn  of 
history.  All  this  entailed  for  each  winning  tribe  a  greater 
heterogeneity  of  environment  than  in  any  other  instance- 
Under  such  circumstances  uniformity  could  hardly  have 
carried  the  day  so  far  as  to  crush  out  flexibility.  Continual 
change  of  foes  to  be  overcome,  and  of  natural  obstacles  to 
be  surmounted,  must  have  given  the  advantage  at  last  to 
those  tribes  which  had  gained  enough  uniformity  to  ensure 
concerted  action,  without  sacrificiug  their  versatility  of  mind 
in  the  process. 

To  some  such  considerations  as  these  we  must  look  for 
the  partial  explanation  of  the  fact  that  at  the  beginnings 
of  recorded  history  we  find  in  the  European  Aryans  all  the 
essential  elements  of  progressiveness.  The  continuance  of 
this  progressiveness  during  the  historic  period  is  a  fact  which 
need  not  long  detain  us.  Since  the  beginnings  of  Mediter- 
ranean civilization,  the  heterogeneity  of  the  environment  has 
been  too  great,  and  the  changes  in  the  environment  too  rapid, 
to  allow  of  general  stagnation ;  while  the  assaults  of  outer 
barbarism  have  been  for  the  most  part  warded  off  by  the 
military  superiority  which  this  higher  civilization  has  en- 
tailed. At  times  there  has  been  an  appearance  of  danger 
that  much  of  this  hard-won  advantage  might  be  lost,  not 
merely  through  assaults  from  without,  but  through  causes 
internally  operating.  After  the  earlier  incentives  to  noble 
%nd  varied  activity  connected  with  the  autonomous  spirit 
oad  been  destroyed  by  the  universal  hegemony  of  Eome,  the 


278  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii, 

need  for  protection  from  the  threatening  barbarian  began  to 
bring  about  a  retrogression,  in  which  for  a  time  uniformity 
seemed  likely  to  flourish  at  the  expense  of  individuality.     It 
is  instructive,  from  this  point  of  view,  to  observe  the  gradual 
change  toward  an  Oriental  type  of  government  which  went 
on  from  the  time  of  Augustus  to  that  of  Diocletian.     In  the 
eastern  half  of  the  Empire,  after  its  final  political  severance 
from  the  western  half  at  the  end  of  the  eighth  century,  this 
change  became  really  consummated,  and  after  a  while  de- 
feated itself  by  culminating  in  a  social  stagnation  and  mili- 
tary  feebleness   which   invited   the   sharp   scimitar  of   the 
Mussulman.     But  in  the  West  this  fatal  growth  of  patri- 
archal despotism  was  early  checked  by  the  rise  of   Chris- 
tianity as  an  independent  spiritual  power,  by  the  immigration 
of  the  German  tribes,  and  by  the  union  of  these  two  circum- 
stances.    Europe  was  in  no  immediate  danger  of  lapsing  into 
an   Oriental   condition   when   an   Ambrose  could  say  to  a 
Theodosius,  "  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther."     The 
German   tribes,    by   their   direct   coalescence   into   national 
aggregates,  without  passing  through  the  civic  stage  of  organi- 
zation,  furnished,   in  various   degrees  of  completeness,  the 
principles  of  representation  and  federation,  thus  adding  im- 
portant elements  of  new  life  to  the  Empire.     While  finally 
the  Christianization  of  these  tribes,  leading  to  the  famous 
compact  by  which  the  Head  of  the  Church  transferred  the 
lordship  of  the  western  world  from  the  degenerate  Byzantine 
to  the  strong-armed  Frank,  inaugurated  a  balance  of  powers 
which  preserved  Europe  henceforth  from  any  danger  of  be- 
coming either  a  sultanate  or  a  caliphate.     In  this  twofold 
supremacy  of  Church  and  Empire  during  the  Middle  Ages, 
we   liave   one   of    the    most   remarkable    compromises   be- 
tween antagonist  forces  known  to  history ;  for  while  the  ten- 
dency of  either  set  of  forces  acting  alone  would  have  been 
toward  absolute  despotism,  either  in  the  spiritual  or  in  the 
temporal  form,  on  the  other  hand  their  joint  action  and 


CH.  XX.]  CONDITIONS  OF  PB0GBES3.  279 

counter-action  was  in  a  high  degree  conducive  to  the  develop- 
ment of  individual  liberty  of  thought  and  behaviour. 

The  various  hints  here  given  thus  combine  to  show  liow, 
both  in  historic  and  in  prehistoric  times,  the  European 
Aryans  would  seem  to  have  profited  by  circumstances  tend- 
ing to  encourage  individuality  without  weakening  concenira- 
tion.  Hence  the  peculiarly  plastic  consistency — the  fiexibility 
combined  with  toughness — of  West- Aryan  civilization.  Hence 
the  European  races  all  possess  the  capacity  of  innovating 
without  revolution.  The  English  and  the  old  Eoinaus  have 
exhibited  this  capacity  in  the  highest  degree  ;  the  Spaniards 
and  the  French,  in  recent  times,  owing  to  previous  reversion 
toward  a  despotic  regime,  have  shown  themselves  partially 
deprived  of  it.  But  while  it  is  thus  manifested  in  quite 
various  degrees,  all  alike  possess  it  in  a  high  degree  as 
compared  with  those  races  which  have  been  arrested  in  the 
Oriental  stage  of  civilization. 

The  successful  achievement  of  innovation  without  revo- 
lution depends  mainly  upon  an  artifice  which  derives  its 
validity  from  one  of  the  most  deep-seated  tendencies  of  the 
human  mind,  and  which  has  unquestionably  been  one  of  the 
chief  agencies  in  forwarding  social  progress.  I  refer  to  the 
artifice  of  "  legal  fiction,"  as  shown  in  the  pretence  that  the 
novelty  of  belief  or  practice  just  inaugurated  has  its  warrant 
in  time-honoured  precedent.  The  disposition  to  justify  aU 
innovation  by  means  of  this  artifice  is  so  strongly  rooted  in 
human  nature  that  it  is  likely  to  be  manifested  for  a  long  time 
vo  come, — probably  until  the  millennial  victory  of  that  "  pure 
reason  "  about  which  sentimental  philosophers  have  prated, 
but  wliich  hitherto  has  played  a  very  subordinate  part  in 
shaping  human  affairs.  It  is  this  disposition  which  leads  the 
orthodox,  after  resisting  some  scientific  heresy  until  resistanco 
is  no  longer  possible,  to  discover  all  at  once  that  the  heresy 
was  really  taught  by  Suarez,  or  St.  Augustine,  or  Moses.  It  is 
this  whicli  enables  changes  to  be  made  "  constitutionally,"  or 


280  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHT,  [it.  n. 

in  accordance  with  a  system  of  edicts  framed  in  an  age  when 
the  changes  in  question  could  not  possibly  have  been  con- 
templated or  provided  for.  Yet  among  ourselves,  where  the 
dread  of  novelty  is  comparatively  slight,  there  is  some 
difficulty  in  realizing  how  all-essential  is  this  kind  of  artifice 
in  early  times.  "  To  this  day  many  semi-civilized  races  have 
great  difficulty  in  regarding  any  arrangement  as  binding  and 
conclusive  unless  they  can  also  manage  to  look  at  it  as  an 
inherited  usage.  Sir  Henry  Maine,  in  his  last  work,  gives  a 
most  curious  case.  The  English  Government  in  India  has  in 
many  cases  made  new  and  great  works  of  irrigation,  of  which 
no  ancient  Indian  Government  ever  thought;  and  it  has 
generally  left  it  to  the  native  village  community  to  say  what 
share  each  man  of  the  village  should  have  in  the  water ;  and 
the  village  authorities  have  accordingly  laid  down  a  series  of 
most  minute  rules  about  it.  But  the  peculiarity  is,  that  in 
no  case  do  these  rules  '  purport  to  emanate  from  the  personal 
authority  of  their  author  or  authors,  which  rests  on  grounds 
of  reason,  not  on  grounds  of  innocence  and  sanctity  ;  nor  do 
they  assume  to  be  dictated  by  a  sense  of  equity ;  there  is 
always,  I  am  assured,  a  sort  of  fiction  under  which  some 
customs  as  to  the  distribution  of  water  are  supposed  to  have 
emanated  from  a  remote  antiquity,  although,  in  fact,  no  such 
artificial  supply  had  ever  been  so  much  as  thought  of.'  So 
difficult  does  this  ancient  race — like,  probably,  in  this  respect 
so  much  of  the  ancient  world — find  it  to  imagine  a  rule 
which  IS  obligatory,  but  not  traditional,"  ^ 

Now  among  the  European  Aryans,  within  historic  times, 
this  species  of  artifice  assumed  a  form  which  made  it  in  a 
very  high  degree  conducive  to  the  permanent  progressivenes^^ 
of  the  race.  If  we  look  into  the  great  writers  who  in  the 
seventeenth  century  illustrated  with  exquisite  beauty  and 
clearness  the  doctrines  of  Public  Law,  we  find  their  heads 
filled  with  the  notion  of  a  primitive  natural  code,  fit  for 
■  Bagehot,  Physics  and  Politics,  p.  142> 


CH.  xx]  CONDITIONS  OF  PROGRESS.  281 

regulating  international  concerns,  and  for  supplying  every- 
where the  shortcomings  of  civil  legislation,  its  degenerate 
offspring,  whose  worth  must  be  rated  according  to  the  degree 
in  which  it  approaches  the  perfection  of  its  parent.  The 
influeuGO  of  this  conception  may  be  best  appreciated  by 
reflecting  on  the  extent  to  which  contemporary  legal  literature, 
whether  embodied  in  expository  treatises  or  in  judicial  deci- 
sions, is  impregnated  by  it.  The  appeals  to  **  right  reason  " 
and  "natural  reason"  which  since  Blackstone's  time  have 
filled  a  considerable  place  in  juristic  dissertation,  bear  un- 
equivocal marks  of  their  origin.  Nowhere  better  than  here 
can  we  see  exemplified  the  mighty  influence  of  the  ideas  of 
Koman  jurisprudence  upon  modern  thought.  Sir  Henry 
Maine  has  well  delineated  the  process  by  which,  from  the 
constantly  felt  want  of  a  system  of  principles  fit  for  settling 
disputes  between  Eoman  citizens  and  aliens  or  foreigners, 
there  gradually  arose  in  the  Praetorian  courts  an  equitable 
body  of  law  founded  upon  customs  common  (or  assumed  as 
common)  to  all  peoples  alike.  But  far  from  comprehending 
the  really  progressive  character  of  the  noble  juristic  system 
steadily  growing  up  under  their  own  supervision — daily 
attaining  grander  proportions  as  the  grotesque  and  barbarous 
elements  hallowed  by  local  usage  were  one  by  one  eliminated 
from  the  body  of  equitable  ideas  which  formed  their  common 
substratum — the  Praetors  of  the  Eepublic  and  the  great 
Antonine  jurisconsults,  under  the  immediate  influence  of 
Stoic  conceptions,  supposed  themselves  to  be  merely  restoring 
to  their  original  integrity  the  disfigured  and  partially 
obliterated  ordinances  of  a  primeval  state  of  nature.  The 
state  of  faultless  morality  and  unimpeachable  equity  which 
constituted  the  ideal  goal  of  their  labours,  they  mistook  for 
the  shadow  of  a  real  though  unseen  past. 

But  this  form  of  the  unconscious  artifice — due  in  general 
to  the  great  heterogeneity  of  the  Koman  environment,  and  in 
particular  to  the  continual  interaction  between  Greek  and 


282  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii. 

Roman  ideas— was  very  different  from  the  form  of  it  ex- 
emplified by  the  Hindu  who  refers  his  modern  edicts  about 
water-supply  to  some  remote  era  of  primitive  legislation. 
Between  the  two  there  is  a  world-wide  difference, — all  the 
difference  between  stagnation  and  progress.  For  the  abstract 
and  impersonal  form  in  which  the  lioman  conceived  his  Jus 
Naturce  made  it  possible  for  him  to  appeal  to  it,  not  simply 
in  justification  of  particular  departures  from  ancient  custom, 
but  in  justification  of  the  general  principle  of  departure 
from  ancient  custom.  It  constituted,  as  it  were,  a  court  of 
appeal  before  which  time-honoured  customs  must  be  called 
upon  to  establish  their  validity.  It  opened  men's  minds  to 
the  distinction  between  mala  proliihita  and  mala  in  se.  It 
prepared  the  way  for  the  recognition  of  a  "higher  law  "  of 
God  as  distinct  from  the  local  and  temporary  laws  of  man. 
And  in  this  way  it  no  doubt  contributed  largely  toward  the 
establishment  of  Christianity  as  an  independent  spiritual 
power  in  the  Empire. 

To  deal  adequately  with  these  interesting  illustrations 
would  require  us  to  extend  this  part  of  our  discussion  to 
disproportionate  length.  Our  purpose  is  sufficiently  sub- 
served by  the  foregoing  fragmentary  statement,  in  which  the 
problem  of  human  progressiveness,  though  not  fully  solved, 
is  at  least  so  far  classified  that  the  solution  of  it  is  facili- 
tated. AVe  have  seen  that  permanent  progressiveness  is 
found  where  the  social  aggregate  is  characterized  by  a  cohe- 
sion among  its  parts  which  is  neither  too  little  nor  too  great. 
An  excess  and  a  deficiency  of  individual  mobility  have  been 
shown  to  be  alike  incompatible  with  that  persistent  tendency 
toward  internal  rearrangement  which  we  call  progressiveness. 
The  sociological  puzzle  to  which  Mr.  Bagehot  has  called 
attention,  and  with  which  we  have  been  concerned  in  the 
present  chapter,  is  substantially  the  same  thing  as  the 
dynamic  paradox  which  confronted  us  when,  in  the  fourth 
chapter,  we  \»  ere  seeking  to  determine  the  conditions  which 


CH.  XX.]  CONDITIONS  OF  FEOGBBSS.  283 

enable  Evolution  in  general  to  result  in  continuous  increase 
of  structural  and  functional  complexity.  The  present  case 
is,  indeed,  but  a  special  form  of  the  more  general  case. 
How  to  secure  a  compromise  between  fluidity  and  rigidity  is 
in  both  cases  the  essential  desideratum.  Where  the  units 
which  make  Tip  the  aggregate  have  too  much  individual 
freedom  of  motion,  the  result  is  a  lluid  state  in  which  there 
is  no  chance  for  stable  structural  arrangements.  Where  they 
have  too  little  freedom  of  motion,  the  result  is  a  solid  state 
in  which  there  is  no  chance  for  structural  rearrangements. 
In  the  first  case,  where  there  is  so  little  dissipation  of  motion, 
there  is  little  or  no  Evolution.  In  the  second  case,  where  so 
little  internal  motion  is  retained,  the  Evolution  which  occurs 
is  simply  or  chiefly  a  process  of  consolidation,  unattended  by 
any  considerable  advance  from  indeterminate  uniformity 
toward  determinate  multiformity. 

Bearing  in  mind  that  we  are  dealing,  not  with  a  mere 
series  of  striking  analogies,  but  with  a  group  of  real  resem- 
blances which  r^isnlt  from  a  fundamental  homology  between 
the  special  process  here  considered  and  the  more  general 
process  which  includes  it,  let  us  observe  that  one  chief  cir- 
cumstance which  secures  mobility  without  loss  of  coherence 
IS  a  heterogeneous  and  ever-changing  social  environment,  to 
the  heterogeneous  changes  of  which  the  community  is  con- 
tinually required  to  adjust  itself.  The  illustrations  above 
given  unite  in  showing  that  where  circumstances  have 
afforded  such  a  heteroL,eneous  environment  (as  a  perpetual 
external  excitant  of  internal  rearrangements),  the  commu- 
nities which  have  survived  through  relatively-complete  ad- 
justment have  manifested  a  permanent  capacity  for  progress. 
Thus  is  our  problem  completely  connected  with  the  more 
general  problem  of  natural  selection,  and  with  the  most 
ifeneral  problem  of  Evolution  as  manifested  in  all  orders  of 
phenomena.  And  thus  the  essential  continuity  of  the  pro- 
cesses of  Nature  is  again  strikingly  illustrated. 


284  COSMIC  PMILOSOFEY,  [n.ii 

In  the  following  chapter  we  shall  have  frequent  o(!casion 
to  refer  to  this  circumstance  of  heterogeneity  of  the  social 
environment  as  manifested  psychologically,  in  its  effects 
upon  the  intellectual  mobility  of  men  regarded  as  indi- 
viduals. To  pursue  the  problem  of  progressiveness  into  this 
psychological  region  is  the  way  in  which  to  obtain  a  basis 
for  the  3xplanation  of  the  progress  from  Brute  to  Man ;  and 
to  this  crowning  inquiry  we  must  now  address  ourselves 


CHAPTER  XXL 

GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECIUALLT. 

The  chief  difficulty  which  most  persons  find  in  accepting  the 
Doctrine  of  Evolution  as  applied  to  the  origin  of  the  human 
race,  is  the  difficulty  of  realizing  in  imagination  the  kinship 
hetween  the  higher  and  the  lower  forms  of  intelligence  and 
emotion.     And  this  difficulty  is  enhanced  by  a  tendency  of 
which  our  daily  associations  make  it  hard  to  rid  ourselves. 
There  is  a  tendency  to  exaggerate  the  contrasts  which  really 
exist,  by  leaving  out  of  mind  the  intermediate  phenomena  and 
considering  only  the  extremes.  Many  critics,  both  among  those 
who  are  hostile  to  the  development  theory  and  among  those 
who  regard  it  with  favour,  habitually  argue  as  if  the  intel- 
ligence and  morality  of  the  human  race  might   be   fairly 
represented  by  the  intelligence  and  morality  of  a  minority 
of  highly  organized  and  highly  educated  people  in  the  most 
civilized  communities.     When  speaking  of  mankind  they  are 
speaking  of  that  which  is  represented  to  their  imagination 
by  the  small  number  of  upright,  cultivated,  and  well-bred 
people  with  whom  they  are  directly  acquainted,  and  also  to  some 
extent  by  a  few  of  those  quite  exceptional  men  and  women 
who  have  left   names  recorded  in  history.     Though  other 
elements  are  admitted  into  the  conception,  these  are  never- 
theless  the    ones   which    chiefly  give    to   it   its   character. 
Employing  then  this  conception  of  mankind,  abstracted  from 


286  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

these  inadequate  instances,  our  critics  ask  us  how  it  is 
possible  to  imagine  that  a  race  possessed  of  such  a  godlike 
intellect,  such  a  keen  SBstlietic  sense,  and  such  a  lofty  soul, 
should  ever  have  descended  from  a  race  of  mere  brutes. 
And  again  they  ask  us  how  can  a  race  endowed  with  such  a 
capacity  for  progress  be  genetically  akin  to  those  lower  races 
of  which  even  the  highest  show  no  advance  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another.  Confronted  thus  by  diificulties  which  reason 
and  imagination  seem  alike  incompetent  to  overcome,  they 
too  often  either  give  up  the  problem  as  insoluble,  or  else — 
which  amounts  to  nearly  the  same  thing — have  recourse  to 
the  dens  ex  machind  as  an  aid  in  solving  it. 

Influenced,  no  doubt,  by  some  such  mental  habit  as  this 
Mr.  St.  George  Mivart  declares  that,  while  thoroughly  agree- 
ing with  Mr.  Darwin  as  to  man's  zoological  position,  he 
nevertheless  regards  the  difference  between  ape  and  mush- 
room as  less  important  than  the  difference  between  ape  and 
man,  so  soon  as  we  take  into  the  account  "  the  totality  ot 
man's  being."  ^  In  this  emphatic  statement  there  is  a  certain 
amount  of  truth,  though  ]\Ir.  Mivart  is  not  justified  in  imply- 
ing that  it  is  a  truth  which  the  Darwinian  is  bound  not  to 
recognize.  The  enormous  difference  between  civilized  man 
and  the  highest  of  brute  animals  is  by  no  one  more  emphati- 
cally recognized  than  by  the  evolutionist,  who  holds  that  to 
the  process  of  organic  development  there  has  been  super- 
added a  stupendous  process  of  social  development,  and  who 
must  therefore  admit  that  with  the  beginning  of  human 
civilization  there  was  opened  a  new  chapter  in  the  history  of 
the  universe,  so  far  as  we  know  it.  From  the  human  point 
of  view  we  may  contentedly  grant  that,  for  all  practical 
purposes,  the  difference  between  an  ape  and  a  mushroom  is 
of  less  consequence  than  the  difference  between  an  ape  and 
an  educated  European  of  the  nineteenth  century.  But  to 
take  this  educated  European  as  a  typical  sample  of  mankind 
»  Nature,  April  20,  187L 


en.  XXI.]     GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY,  287 

and  to  contrast  him  directly  with  chimpanzees  and  gibhons, 
is  in  the  highest  degree  fallacious ;  since  the  proceeding 
involves  the  omission  of  a  host  of  facts  which;  when  taken 
into  the  account,  must  essentially  modify  the  aspect  of  the 
whole  case. 

When  we  take  the  refined  and  intellectual  Teuton,  with  his 
one  hundred  and  fourteen  cubic  inches  of  brain,  and  set  him 
alongside  of  the  chimpanzee  with  his  thirty-five  cubic  inches 
of  brain,  the  difference  seems  so  enormous  as  to  be  incom- 
patible with  any  original  kinship.  But  when  we  interpose 
the  Australian,  whose  brain,  measuring  seventy  cubic  inches, 
comes  considerably  nearer  to  that  of  the  chimpanzee  than 
to  that  of  the  Teuton,  the  case  is  entirely  altered,  and  we 
are  no  longer  inclined  to  admit  sweeping  statements  about 
the  immeasurable  superiority  of  man,  which  we  may  still 
admit,  provided  they  are  restricted  to  civilized  man.  If 
we  examine  the  anatomical  composition  of  these  brains,  the 
discovery  that  in  structural  complexity  the  Teutonic  cere- 
brum surpasses  the  Australian  even  more  than  the  latter 
surpasses  that  of  the  chimpanzee,  serves  to  strengthen  us 
in  our  position.  And  when  we  pass  from  facts  of  anatomy 
to  facts  of  psychology,  we  obtain  still  further  confirmation; 
for  we  find  that  the  difference  in  structure  is  fully  paralleled 
by  the  difference  in  functional  manifestation.  If  the  English- 
man shows  such  wonderful  command  of  relations  of  space, 
time,  and  number,  as  to  be  able  to  tell  us  that  to  an  observer 
siaiioned  at  Greenwich  on  the  7th  of  June,  A.D.  2004,  at 
precisely  nine  minutes  and  fifty-six  seconds  after  five  o'clock 
'n  the  morning,  Venus  will  begin  to  cross  the  sun's  disc;  on 
the  other  hand,  the  Australian  is  able  to  count  only  up  to 
five  or  six,  and  cannot  tell  us  t^ie  number  of  fingers  on  his 
two  hands,  since  so  large  a  number  as  ten  excites  in  him 
only  an  indefinite  impression  of  plurality.*    Our  conception  of 

^  The  Dammaras,  according  to  Mr.  Gal  ton,  are  even  worse  off  than  this, 
"When  they  wish  to  express  four,  they  take  to  th^ir  fingers,  which  an  tc 


288  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

the  godlike  intellect  evidently  will  not  apply  here.  If  the 
emotions  of  the  German  and  his  intellectual  perceptions  of 
the  fitness  of  harmonious  sounds  for  expressing  emotion  are 
so  deep  and  subtle  and  varied  as  to  result  in  the  production 
of  choruses  like  those  of  Handel  and  symphonies  like  those 
of  Beethoven,  on  the  other  hand  the  crude  emotions  of  the 
Australian  are  quite  adequately  expressed  by  the  discordant 
yells  and  howls  which  constitute  the  sole  kind  of  music  ap- 
preciable by  his  undeveloped  ears.  "VVe  look  in  vain  here  for 
traces  of  the  keen  aesthetic  sense  which  in  a  measure  links 
together  our  intellectual  and  moral  natures.  Again,  if  the 
American  student  has  been  known  to  be  actuated  by  such 
noble  ethical  impulses  and  guided  by  such  lofty  conceptions 
of   morality   as    to    leave    his   comfortable   home   and   his 

them  as  formidable  instruments  of  calculation  as  a  sliding  rule  is  to  an 
English  school-boy.  They  puzzle  very  much  after  five,  because  no  spare  hand 
remains  to  grasp  and  secure  the  fingers  that  are  required  for  units.  Yet  they 
seldom  lose  oxen  ;  the  way  in  which  they  discover  the  loss  of  one  is  not  by 
the  number  of  the  herd  being  diminished,  but  by  the  absence  of  a  face  they 
know.  When  bartering  is  going  on,  each  sheep  must  bs  paid  for  separately. 
Thus,  suppose  two  sticks  of  tobacco  to  be  the  rate  of  exchange  for  one  sheep, 
it  would  sorely  puzzle  a  Dammara  to  take  two  sheep  and  give  him  four  sticks. 
I  have  done  so,  and  seen  a  man  put  two  of  the  sticks  apart,  and  take  a  sight 
over  them  at  one  of  the  sheep  he  was  about  to  sell.  Havifg  satisfied  himself 
that  that  one  was  honestly  paid  for,  and  finding  to  his  surprise  that  exactly  two 
sticks  remained  in  hand  to  settle  the  account  for  the  other  sheep,  he  would 
be  atflicted  with  doubts  ;  the  transaction  seemed  to  come  out  too  '  pat '  to  be 
correct,  and  he  would  refer  back  to  the  first  couple  of  sticks  ;  and  then  his 
mind  got  hazy  and  confused,  and  wandered  from  one  sbeep  to  the  other,  and 
he  broke  off  the  transaction  until  two  sticks  were  put  into  his  hand,  and  one 
sheep  driven  away,  and  then  the  other  two  sticks  given  him,  and  the  second 
sheep  driven  away.  .  .  .  Once  while  I  watched  a  Dammara  floundering 
hopelessly  in  a  cilculation  on  one  side  of  me,  I  observed  Dinah,  my  spaniel, 
equally  embarrassed  on  the  other.  She  was  overlooking  half-a-dozen  of  her 
new-born  puppies,  which  had  been  removed  two  or  three  times  from  her,  and 
her  anxiety  was  excessive,  as  she  tried  to  find  out  if  they  were  all  present,  or 
if  any  were  still  missing.  She  kept  puzzling  and  mnning  her  eyes  over  them, 
backwards  and  forwards,  but  could  not  satisfy  herself.  She  evidently  had  a 
Tague  notion  of  counting,  but  the  figure  was  too  large  for  her  brain.  Taking 
the  two  as  they  stood,  dog  and  Dammara,  the  comparison  reflected  no  great 
honour  on  the  man." — Galton,  Tropical  South  Africa,  p.  132,  cited  in  LuIh 
bock.  Origin  of  Civilization,  Amer.  ed.,  p.  294.  See  also  Tylor,  Primitivt 
Culture,  vol.  i.  pp.  218 — 246.  Probably  the  dual  number,  in  grammar, 
"preserves  the  memorial  of  that  stage  of  thought  when  all  beyond  two  wa« 
kn  idea  of  iBdefinite  number."    Id.  p.  240. 


CH.  XXI.]     GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  289 

favourite  pursuits,  and  engage  in  rough  warfare,  at  the  risk 
of  life  and  limb,  solely  or  chiefly  that  he  might  assist  in 
relieving  the  miseries  of  far  inferior  men,  whose  direct 
claim  upon  his  personal  sympathies  could  never  be  other 
than  slight,  on  the  other  liand  the  Australian  has  no  words 
in  his  language  to  express  the  ideas  of  justice  and  benevo- 
lence, and  no  amount  of  teaching  can  make  him  compre- 
hend these  ideas.  For  although,  like  some  brute  animals, 
he  is  not  wholly  destitute  of  the  primary  feelings  which 
underlie  them,  yet  these  feelings  have  been  so  seldom  re- 
peated in  his  own  experience,  and  that  of  his  ancestors, 
that  he  is  unable  to  generalize  from  them.  The  lofty  soul, 
which  is  too  sweepingly  attributed  to  man  in  distinction 
from  other  animals,  is  here  as  difficult  to  discover  as  the 
godlike  intellect  or  the  keen  aesthetic  sense. 

In  similar  wise  is  made  to  disappear  the  sharp  contrast 
between  human  and  brute  animals  in  capability  of  progress. 
Hardly  any  fact  is  more  imposing  to  the  imagination  than 
the  fact  that  each  generation  of  civilized  men  is  perceptibly 
more  enliglitened  than  the  preceding  one,  while  each  genera- 
tion of  brutes  exactly  resembles  those  which  have  come 
before  it.  But  the  contrast  is  obtained  only  by  comparing 
the  civilized  European  of  to-day  directly  with  the  brute 
animals  known  to  us  through  the  short  period  of  recorded 
human  history.  The  capability  of  progress,  however,  is  by  no 
means  shared  alike  by  all  races  of  men.  Of  the  numerous  races 
historically  known  to  us,  it  has  been  manifested  in  a  marked 
degree  only  by  two, — the  Aryan  and  Semitic.  To  a  much 
less  conspicuous  extent  it  has  been  exhibited  by  the  Chinese 
and  Japanese,  the  Copts  of  Egypt,  and  a  few  of  the  highest 
American  races.  On  the  other  hand,  the  small-brained  races 
— the  Australians  and  Papuans,  the  Hottentots,  and  the 
majority  of  tribes  constituting  the  widespread  Malay  and 
American  families — appear  almost  wholly  incapable  of  pro- 
gress, even  under  the  guidance  of  higher  races.     The  most 

VOL.  IL  U 


290  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [vj,  xl 

that  can  be  said  for  tliem  is,  that  they  are  somewhat  more 
imitative  and  somewhat  more  teachable  than  any  brute 
animals.  In  the  presence  of  the  Aryan,  even  under  the 
most  favourable  circumstances,  they  tend  to  become  extin- 
guished, rather  tlian  to  appropriate  the  results  of  a  civiliza- 
tion which  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  they  could  ever 
have  originated.  The  two  great  races  of  Middle  Africa,  the 
Negroes  and  the  Kaffirs,^  have  shown,  by  their  ability  to 
endure  slave  labour,  their  superiority  to  those  above  men- 
tioned ;  but  their  career,  where  it  has  not  been  interfered 
with  by  white  men,  has  been  but  little  less  monotonous  than 
the  career  of  a  brute  species.  Of  all  these  barbarian  races, 
we  commonly  say  that  they  have  no  history ;  and  by  this 
we  mean  that  throughout  long  ages  they  have  made  no 
appreciable  progress.  In  a  similar  sense  we  should  say  of 
a  race  of  monkeys  or  elephants,  that  it  has  no  history. 

Of  like  import  is  the  fact,  that  as  we  go  backward  in  time 
we  find  the  jDrogressiveness  of  the  civilized  races  continually 
diminishing.  No  previous  century  ever  saw  anything  ap- 
proaching to  the  increase  in  social  complexity  which  has 
been  wrought  in  America  and  Europe  since  1789.  In  science 
and  in  the  industrial  arts  the  change  has  been  greater  than 
in  the  ten  preceding  centuries  taken  together.  Contrast  the 
seventeen  centuries  which  it  took  to  remodel  the  astronomy 
of  Hipparchos  with  the  forty  years  which  it  has  taken  to 
remodel  the  chemistry  of  Berzelius  and  the  biology  of  Cuvier. 
Note  how  the  law  of  gravitation  was  nearly  a  century  in 
getting  generally  accepted   by  foreign  astroiiomers,^   while 

*  It  is  Haeckel  who  asserts  a  distinction  of  race  between  the  Negroes  and 
Kaffirs.     It  is  not  necessary,  however,  to  insist  upon  the  distinction. 

*  It  was  still  on  trial  in  France  in  1749,  when  Clairaut  and  Lalande  mag- 
nificently Terified  it  by  calculating  the  retardation  of  H alley's  comet.  It 
may  be  said  that  the  French  are  notoriously  slow  in  adopting  ideas  which 
have  originated  in  other  countries,  and  that  they  now  ignore  natural  selection 
Diuch  as  they  formerly  ignored  gravitation.  Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the 
Academy  and  M.  Flourens,  there  are  plain  indications  that  the  doctrine  of 
•pecial  creations  is  doomed  speedily  to  suffer  the  fate  in  France  which  it  has 
•iready  suffered  in  Germany,"  England,  and  America. 


CH.  XXI.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  £91 

within  half  a  dozen  years  from  its  promulgation,  the  theory 
of  natural  selection  was  accepted  by  the  great  majority  of 
naturalists.  How  small  the  difference  between  the  clumsy 
waggons  of  the  Tudor  period  and  the  lu  ail -coach  in  which 
our  grandfathers  rode,  compared  to  the  difference  between 
the  mail-coach  and  the  railway  train !  How  rapid  the 
changes  in  philosophic  thinking  since  the  time  oi  the  Ency- 
clo2')edistes,  in  comparison  with  the  slow  though  important 
changes  which  occurred  between  the  epoch  of  Aristotle  and 
the  epoch  of  Descartes !  In  morality,  both  individual  and 
national,  and  in  general  humanity  of  disposition  and  refine- 
ment of  manners,  the  increased  rapidity  of  change  has  been 
no  less  marked. 

But  these  considerations  are  immensely  increased  in  force 
when  we  take  into  account  those  epochs  which,  in  the  light 
of  our  present  knowledge,  can  alone  properly  be  termed 
ti/ncient.  Far  beyond  the  comparatively  recent  period  at 
which  human  history  began  on  the  eastern  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,  extend  the  ages  during  which,  as  palaeon- 
tology shows  us,  both  the  eastern  and  the  western  hemi- 
spheres were  peopled  by  races  of  men.  Ten  thousand  cen- 
turies before  the  time  of  Homer  and  the  Vedic  poets,  wild 
men,  with  brute-like  crania,  carried  on  the  struggle  for 
existence  with  mammoths,  tigers,  and  gigantic  bears,  long 
since  extinct.  And  recent  researches  make  it  probable  that 
even  this  enormous  period  must  be  multiplied  six-  or  eight- 
fold before  we  can  arrive  at  the  time  when  men  first  ap- 
peared upon  the  earth  as  creatures  zoologically  distinct  from 
apes.  The  significance  of  these  conclusions,  even  when  we 
take  into  account  only  the  shorter  epoch  of  a  single  million 
f  years,  cannot  be  too  strongly  insisted  upon.  They  show 
us  that  it  is  only  in  recent  times  that  man  has  become 
widely  distinguished  from  other  animals  by  his  capability  of 
progress.  If,  as  evidence  of  our  present  progressiveness,  we 
cito  the  superiority  of  our  Whitworth  guns  and  Chassepot 

u  2 


292  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  il 

rifles  over  the  howitzers  and  flintlocks  used  by  our  grand- 
fathers, we  must  also  remember  that  more  than  twenty 
thousand  generations  lived  and  died  before  the  primitive 
stone  hatchets  and  stone-pointed  arrows  M^ere  superseded 
by  battle-axes  and  javelins  headed  with  bronze.  During 
these  long  ages,  each  generation  must  have  imitated  its 
predecessor  almost  as  closely  as  is  the  case  with  brute 
animals.  The  godlike  intellect,  of  whose  achievements  we 
are  now  so  justly  proud,  was  then  being  acquired  by  almost 
infinitely  minute  increments.  In  the  face  of  the  proved 
fact  of  man's  immense  antiquity,  no  other  conclusion  is 
admissible. 

I  have  introduced  these  considerations,  not  so  much  to 
confirm  the  theory  of  the  descent  of  man  from  an  ape-like 
animal, — which  I  regard  as  already  sufficiently  proved  by  the 
evidence  presented  in  the  ninth  chapter, — as  to  illustrate  the 
true  point  of  view  from  which  the  evolution  of  humanity 
should  be  regarded,  In  treating  of  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution 
in  general,  we  saw  it  to  be  a  corollary  from  the  persistence  of 
force  that  the  process  of  evolution,  which  at  first  goes  on 
with  comparative  slowness,  must,  owing  to  the  multiplication 
of  effects,  go  on  with  increasing  rapidity.^  We  have  seen, 
besides,  that  those  most  conspicuous  aspects  of  evolution 
which  consist  in  increase  of  definite  complexity  in  structure 
and  function  must  be  much  more  conspicuous  in  the  more 
compound  than  in  the  more  simple  kinds  of  evolution.  In 
illustration  of  these  closely  allied  truths,  we  may  note  that 
in  all  cases  a  long  period  of  time  elapses  before  any  lower 
order  of  evolution  gives  rise  to  a  distinctly  higher  order. 
Long  ages  must  have  passed  before  the  slow  integration  of 
our  solar  nebula  into  a  planetary  system  resulted  in  the 
appearance  of  distinctly  geologic  phenomena  upon  the 
several  planets.     Again,  it  was  a  long  time  before  geologic 

^  See  above,  vol.  i.  p.  354.  This  was  also  hinted  at  the  close  of  th« 
cna]^ter  ou  Life  as  Adjustment. 


en.  XXI.]    OENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY,  293 

evolution  had  proceeded  sufficiently  far  to  admit  of  the 
evolution  of  life  :  upon  Saturn  and  Jupiter,  as  we  have  seen, 
the  genesis  of  anything  like  what  we  know  as  life  would 
appear  still  to  be  impossible.  Again,  after  the  first  appear- 
ance of  life  upon  our  earth,  a  long  time  must  have  elapsed 
before  protists,  simple  plants,  and  nerveless  animals,  were 
succeeded  by  animals  sufficiently  complex  to  manifest  even 
the  most  rudimentary  phases  of  psychical  life.  And  again, 
as  we  can  now  see,  the  evolution  of  physical  and  psychical 
life  to  the  very  high  degree  exemplified  in  the  primeval 
ape-like  man,  was  followed  by  a  somewhat  long  period, 
during  which  the  still  higher  psychical  changes  constituting 
social  evolution  were  slowly  assuming  their  distinctive 
characteristics. 

Social  evolution,  therefore,  regarded  as  a  complicated 
series  of  intellectual  and  emotional  changes  determined  by 
the  aggregation  of  men  into  communities,  is  a  new  order  of 
evolution,  more  highly  compounded  than  any  that  had  gone 
before  it.  "When,  in  the  course  of  the  struggle  for  existence, 
men  began  to  unite  in  family  groups  of  comparatively  per- 
manent organization,  a  new  era  was  begun  in  the  progress 
of  things  upon  the  earth's  surface.  A  new  set  of  structural 
and  functional  changes  began,  which  for  a  long  while  pro- 
ceeding with  the  slowness  characteristic  of  the  early  stages 
of  every  order  of  evolution,  are  at  last  proceeding  with  a 
rapidity  only  to  be  slackened  when  some  penultimate  stage 
of  equilibrium  is  approached.  Hence  it  is  in  the  highest 
decree  unphilosophical  to  attempt  to  explain  the  present 
position  of  civilized  man  solely  by  reference  to  the  laws  of 
organic  and  psychical  evolution  as  obtained  by  the  study  of 
life  in  general.  It  is  for  biology  to  explain  the  differences 
between  the  human  hand  and  foot  and  the  hands  and  feet 
';€  the  other  primates ;  ^  but  the  chief  differences  between 
civilized  man  and  the  other  members  of  the  order  to  which 
*  See  Prof.  Huxley's  admirable  monograph  on  MaiCs  Place  in  Nature, 


294  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  (ft.   t 

he  belongs  are  psycliological  differences,  and  tlie  immense 
series  of  psycliical  changes  to  which  they  are  due  has  been 
all  along  determined  by  social  conditions. 

The  all-important  contrast,  therefore — for  our  present  pur- 
pose— is  not  hetiveen  man  and  other  primates,  extinct  and 
contemporary,  hut  betiveen  civilized  man  and  primitive  man. 
Already  we  have  found  that  the  lowest  contemporary  man, 
whose  social  organization  has  never  reached  any  higher  form 
than  that  of  the  simplest  tribal  community,  exhibits  but 
scanty  traces  of  the  godlike  intellect,  the  refined  tastes,  or  the 
lofLy  soul  which  we  are  accustomed  to  ascribe  to  humanity 
in  general  as  its  distinctive  attributes.  Humanity,  zoolo- 
gically considered,  exists  to-day,  to  which  these  attributes 
cannot  be  ascribed  without  a  considerable  strain  upon  the 
accepted  meanings  of  our  words.  Zoologically,  the  Australian 
belongs  to  the  genus  Homo,  and  is  therefore  nearer  to  us  than 
to  the  gorilla  or  gibbon ;  psychologically,  he  is  in  many 
respects  further  removed  from  us  than  from  these  man-like 
apes.  No  one  will  deny  that  the  intellectual  progress  implied 
in  counting  up  to  five  or  six,  though  equally  important,  is 
immeasurably  inferior  in  quantity  to  the  subsequent  progress 
implied  in  the  solution  of  dynamical  problems  by  means  of 
the  integral  calculus, — an  achievement  to  which  the  average 
modern  engineer  is  competent.  But  in  going  back  to  the 
primeval  man,  we  must  descend  to  a  lower  grade  of  intelli- 
gence than  that  which  is  occupied  by  the  Australian.  We 
must  traverse  the  immensely  long  period  during  which  the 
average  human  skull  was  enlarging  from  a  capacity  of  thirty- 
five  inches,  like  that  of  the  highest  apes,  to  a  capacity  of 
seventy  inches,  like  those  post-glacial  European  skulls,  of 
which  the  one  found  at  Neanderthal  is  a  specimen,  and  whicb 
are  about  on  a  par  with  the  skulls  of  Australians.  And 
when  we  have  reached  the  beginning  of  this  period — possibly 
in  the  Miocene  epoch — we  may  fairly  represent  to  ourselves 
the  individuals  of  the  human  genus  as  animals  differing  in 


CH.  XXI.]     GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  295 

little  save  a  more  marked  sociality  from  the  dryopitliecus  and 
other  extinct  lialf-liumaii  apes.  We  may  represent  primitive 
man  as  an  animal  in  whom,  physical  and  psychical  changes 
having  hitherto  proceeded  pari  jjctssu,  intelligence  had  at 
length  arrived  at  a  point  where  variations  in  it  would  sooner 
be  seized  on  by  natural  selection  than  variations  in  physical 
structure.  When  among  primates  possessed  of  such  an  intel- 
ligence, the  family  groups  temporarily  formed  among  all 
mammals  began  to  become  permanent,  then  we  must  say  that 
there  began  the  career  of  humanity  as  distinguished  from 
animality.  For  countless  ages  our  ancestors  probably  were 
still  but  slightly  distinguished  from  other  primates,  save  that 
their  increasing  intelligence,  their  use  of  weapons,  and  their 
habits  of  combination,  rendered  them  more  than  a  match  for 
much  larger  and  stronger  animals.  In  the  later  Pliocene  times 
these  primitive  men  may  have  come  to  bear  some  resem- 
blance to  the  lowest  contemporary  savages.  Human  remains 
and  relics  of  the  still  later  glacial  period  supply  clear  proof  of 
such  a  resemblance  ;  yet  the  absence  of  any  improvement  in 
weapons  and  implements  for  many  ages  longer  shows  that  as 
yet  there  was  but  little  capability  of  progress.  Of  the  career 
of  mankind  during  the  eight  hundred  thousand  years  which 
would  seem  to  have  elapsed  since  the  era  of  the  cave  bear 
and  woolly  rhinoceros,^  we  possess  many  vestiges.   But  every- 

*  In  assifjning  this  conjectural  date,  I  follow  the  theon^  which  connects  the 
great  glacial  epoch  with  tliat  notable  increase  in  the  eccentricity  of  the  earth's 
orbit  which,  as  calculated  by  Mr.  Croll,  began  about  950,000  years  B.C.,  and 
lasted  200,000  years.  But  while  the  fact  of  this  great  increase  of  eccen- 
tricity is,  I  presume,  well  established,  and  while  it  can  hnrdly  fail  to  have 
wrought  marked  climatic  changes,  it  is  by  no  means  proved  that  the  glaciation 
of  Europe  and  North  America  was  produced  solely  or  chi'-'fly  by  this  circum- 
stance ;  and  accordingly  I  do  not  care  to  insist  upon  the  chionology  which  I 
have  adopted  in  the  text.  Nor  is  it  necessary  for  the  validity  of  my  arga- 
ment  that  it  should  be  insisted  on.  What  we  do  know  is,  that  men  existed 
both  in  Europe  and  in  North  America  at  the  beginning  of  the  glacial  period  ; 
that  this  extensive  dispersal  implies  the  existence  of  the  human  race  for  a 
long  time  previons  to  this  epoch  ;  and  that  thus  we  obtain  a  dumb  antiquity 
in  comparison  with  wliich  the  whole  duration  of  the  voice  of  historic  tradition 
ihrioka  to  a  mere  puiut  of  time.     And  this  is  all  '.aat  my  argument  requires. 


296  COSMIC  PEILOSOPHT,  [pt.  ii 

thing  iudicates  the  most  extreme  barbarism;  nowhere  does 
there  appear  a  trace  of  anything  like  even  the  rudest  civiliza- 
tion, until  we  reach  that  comparatively  recent  epoch  ante- 
cedent to  the  dawn  of  history,  but  accessible  to  philology. 
The  partial  restoration  of  the  Aryan  mother-tongue  enables 
us  to  go  back  perhaps  a  dozen  or  fifteen  centuries  beyond  the 
age  of  Homer  and  the  Vedas,  and  catch  a  few  glimpses  of 
the  prehistoric  Aryans,  —  an  agricultural  race  completely 
tribal  in  organization,  but  acquainted  with  the  use  of  metals, 
and  showing  marks  of  an  intelligence  decidedly  above  that 
of  high  contemporary  barbarians  like  the  Kaffirs.  At  the 
same  time  the  deciphering  of  hieroglyphics  on  Egyptian 
monuments  reveals  to  us  the  existence  in  the  valley  of  the 
Nile  of  an  old  and  immobile  civilization,  organized  on  a 
tribal  basis,  like  that  of  China,  already  sinking  in  political 
decrepitude  at  the  ill-defined  era  at  which  we  first  catch 
Bight  of  it.  Of  the  beginnings  of  civilization  on  the  Nile, 
and  also,  indeed,  on  the  Euphrates,  and  of  the  stages  by 
which  the  Aryans  arrived  at  the  intellectual  pre-eminence  to 
which  their  recovered  language  bears  witness,  we  know  abso- 
lutely nothing.  But  even  if  we  were  to  allow  twenty 
thousand  years  for  these  proceedings, — an  interval  nearly 
seven  times  as  long  as  that  which  separates  the  Homeric  age 
from  our  own  time — we  should  obtain  but  a  brief  period 
compared  with  the  countless  ages  of  unmitigated  barbarism 
which  preceded  it.  The  progress  of  mankind  is  like  a  geo- 
metrical progression.  For  a  good  while  the  repeated  doubling 
produces  quite  unobtrusive  results  ;  but  as  we  begin  to  reach 
the  large  numbers  the  increase  suddenly  becomes  astonishing. 
Since  the  beginning  of  recorded  history  we  have  been  mov- 
ing among  the  large  numbers,  and  each  decade  now  witnesses 
a  greater  amount  of  psychical  achievement  than  could  have 
been  witnessed  in  thousands  of  years  among  pre-glacial  men. 
Such  a  result  is  just  what  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution  teaches 
us  to  anticipate  ;  and  it  thoroughly  confirms  our  statement 


cii.  XXI,]     GENESIS  OF  ATA N,  INTELLECTUALLY.  297 

that,  in  point  of  intelligence  and  capacity  for  progress,  the 
real  contrast  is  not  between  all  mankind  and  other  primates, 
but  between  civilized  and  primeval  man. 

Let  us  now  consider  some  of  the  leading  characteristics 
of  this  gradual  but  increasingly  rapid  intellectual  progress, 
regarded  as  a  growing  correspondence  between  the  human 
mind  and  its  environment. 

In  the  second  chapter  of  our  Prolegomena  it  was  shown 
that  the  highest  kinds  of  scientific  knowledge  differ  only  in 
degree  from  the  lowest  kinds  of  what  is  called  ordinary 
knowledge.  In  spite  of  their  great  differences  in  mental 
capacity,  it  is  obvious  that  the  antelope  who  on  hearing  a 
roar  from  the  neighbouring  thicket  infers  that  it  is  high  time 
to  run  for  his  life,  the  Bushman  who  on  seeing  the  torn 
carcass  of  the  antelope  infers  that  a  lion  has  recently  been 
present,  and  the  astronomer  who  on  witnessing  certain  unfore- 
seen irregularities  in  the  motions  of  Uranus  infers  that  an 
unknown  planet  is  attracting  it,  perform  one  and  all  the  same 
kind  of  mental  operation.  In  the  three  cases  the  processes 
are  fundamentally  the  same,  though  differing  in  complexity 
according  to  the  number  and  remoteness  of  the  past  and 
present  relations  which  are  compared.  In  each  case  the 
process  is  at  bottom  a  grouping  of  objects  and  of  relations 
according  to  their  likenesses  and  unlikenesses.  It  was 
similarly  shown  that  all  knowledge  is  a  classification  of 
experiences,  and  that  every  act  of  knowledge  is  an  act  of 
classification ;  that  an  act  of  inference,  such  as  is  involved 
in  simple  cases  of  perception,  is  "  the  attributing  to  a  body,  in 
consequence  of  some  of  its  properties,  all  those  properties  by 
virtue  of  which  it  is  referred  to  a  particular  class  " ;  that  the 
"  forming  of  a  generalization  is  the  putting  together  in  one 
class  all  those  cases  which  present  like  relations  " ;  and  that 
"  the  drawing  a  deduction  is  essentially  the  perception  that  a 
particular  case  belongs  to  a  certain  class  of  cases  previously 
generalized.     So  that,  as  ordinary  classification  is  a  grouping 


298  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii 

together  of  liJce  tilings ;  reasoning  is  a  grouping  together  ot 
like  7'clations  among  things."  ^  In  this  fundamental  doctrine 
the  two  different  schools  of  modern  psychology,  represented 
respectively  by  Mr.  Bain  and  Mr.  Mansel,  will  thoroughly 
agree.  But  from  this  it  inevitably  follows  that  the  highest  and 
the  lowest  manifestations  of  intelligence  consist  respectively 
of  processes  which  differ  only  in  heterogeneity  and  definite- 
ness  and  in  the  extent  to  which  they  are  compounded. 

But  while  proving  that  science  is  but  an  extension  of  or- 
dinary knowledge,  it  was  also  proved  that  the  higher  orders 
of  knowledge  differ  from  the  lower  in  the  greater  remoteness, 
generality,  and  abstractness  of  the  relations  which  they  for- 
mulate, in  the  greater  definiteness  of  their  formulas,  and  in 
their  more  complete  organization.  Our  inquiry  into  the 
mutual  relations  of  life  and  intelligence  ^  elicited  an  exactly 
pirallel  set  of  conclusions.  It  was  there  shown  that  psychical 
life  consists  in  the  continuous  establishment  of  subjective  rela- 
tions answering  to  objective  relations  ;  and  that,  as  we  advance 
through  the  animal  kingdom  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest 
forms,  this  correspondence  between  the  mind  and  the  environ- 
ment extends  to  relations  which  are  continually  more  remote 
in  space  and  time,  more  clearly  defined,  but  at  the  same  time 
more  general ;  and  finally  we  also  traced  a  progressive  orga- 
nization of  correspondences.  Continually,  while  passing  in 
review  the  various  aspects  of  the  progress  of  intelligence 
in  the  animal  kingdom,  we  found  ourselves  ending  with 
illustrations  drawn  from  that  progress  of  human  intelligence 
which  is  determined  by  social  conditions.  Let  us  now  illus- 
trate this  subject  somewhat  further  by  tracing  out  the  intel- 
lectual correspondence  between  man  and  his  environment,  aa 
increasing  in  remoteness,  in  speciality  and  generality,  in 
complexity,  in  definiteness,  and  in  coherent  organization. 

^  Spencer's  Essays,  1st  series,  p.  189 ;  see  above,  part  L  chap,  ii  ;  pan  li 
cbap.  XV. 
■  See  above,  pwt  ii  chap,  xiv- 


tB  1X1.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY,  299 

The  extension  of  the  correspondence  in  space  is  a  marked 
characteristic  of  intellectual  progress,  which  we  have  already 
traced  through  the  ascending  groups  of  the  animal  kingdom, 
but  which  is  carried  much  further  by  man  than  by  any  lower 
animal.  It  is  no  doubt  true  that  the  direct  adjustments  of 
psychical  relations  to  distant  objective  relations,  effected  by 
unaided  perception,  have  a  narrower  range  in  civilized  men 
t.han  in  uncivilized  men  or  in  several  of  the  higher  mammals 
and  birds.  It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  the  senses  of  civilized 
man — or  at  least  the  three  senses  which  have  a  considerable 
range  in  space — are  less  acute  and  less  extensive  in  range 
than  those  of  the  barbarian.  It  is  said  that  a  Bushman  can 
see  as  far  with  the  naked  eye  as  a  European  can  see  with  a 
field-glass  ;  and  certain  wild  and  domestic  birds  and  mammals, 
as  the  falcon,  the  vulture,  and  perhaps  the  greyhound,  have 
still  longer  vision.  Among  the  different  classes  of  civilized 
men,  those  who,  by  living  on  the  fruits  of  brain-work  done 
indoors,  are  most  widely  differentiated  from  primeval  men, 
have  as  a  general  rule  the  shortest  vision.  And  the  rapid 
increase  of  indoor  life,  which  is  one  of  the  marked  symptoms 
of  modern  civilization,  tends  not  only  to  make  myopia  more 
frequent,  but  also  to  diminish  the  average  range  of  vision  in 
persons  who  are  not  myopic.  There  may  very  likely  have 
been  a  similar,  though  less  conspicuous  and  less  carefully 
observed,  decrease  in  the  range  of  hearing.  And  the  sense 
of  smell,  which  is  so  marvellously  efficient  in  the  majority  of 
mammals  and  in  many  savages,  is  to  us  of  little  use  as  an 
aid  in  effecting  correspondences  in  space. 

In  the  case  also  of  those  simpler  indirect  adjustments 
which  would  seem,  perhaps,  to  involve  the  use  of  the 
cerebellum  chiefly,  we  have  partially  lost  certain  powers 
possessed  by  savages  and  lower  animals.  There  are  few 
things  in  which  civilized  men  differ  among  themselves  more 
conspicuously  than  the  recollection  of  places,  the  identifica- 
tion of  landmarks,  and  the  ability  to  reach  a  distant  point 


300  COSMIC  PHILOSOFIIT.  [px.  it 

through  croo"ked  streets  without  losing  the  way.  But  in 
these  respects  the  most  sagacious  of  us  are  hut  hunglers 
compared  with  primitive  men  or  with  dogs  and  foxes.  Few 
things  are  more  striking  tlian  the  unerring  instinct  with 
which  the  Indian  makes  his  way  through  utterly  trackless 
forests,  seldom  stopping  to  make  up  his  mind,  and  taking  in 
at  a  single  glance  wdiole  groups  of  signs  which  to  his  civilized 
companion  are  inappreciable.  The  loss  of  this  power  of  co- 
ordination, like  the  decrease  in  the  range  of  the  senses,  is 
undoubtedly  due  to  disuse,  the  circumstances  of  civilized 
life  affording  little  or  no  occasion  for  the  exercise  of  these 
faculties.^ 

But  although  in  these  respects  the  correspondence  in  space 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  extended  with  the  progress  of 
civilization,  yet  in  those  far  more  indirect  and  complicated 
adjustments  which,  as  involving  time-relations  of  force  and 
cause,  depend  largely  on  the  aid  of  the  cerebrum,  the  civil- 
ized man  surpasses  the  savage  to  a  much  greater  extent 
than  the  savage  surpasses  the  wolf  or  lion.  "  By  combin- 
ing his  own  perceptions  with  the  perceptions  of  others  as 
registered  in  maps,"  the  modern  **  can  reach  special  places 
lying  thousands  of  miles  away  over  the  earth's  surface.  A 
ship,  guided  by  compass  and  stars  and  chronometer,  brings 
him  from  the  antipodes  information  by  which  his  purchases 
here  are  adapted  to  prices  there.  From  the  characters  of 
exposed  strata  he  infers  the  presence  of  coal  below ;  and 
thereupon  adjusts  the  sequences  of  his  actions  to  coexist- 
ences a  thousand   feet   beneath.     Nor  is    the  environment 


*  In  the  course  of  the  recent  interesting  discnssion  and  correspondence  in 
Nature  concerning  the  "  sense  of  direction"  exhibited  in  barbarians  and  lower 
animals,  it  was  observed  that  a  party  of  Samoyeds  wiU  travel  in  a  direct  line 
fron.  vne  point  to  another  over  trackless  fields  of  ice,  even  on  cloudy  nights, 
when  there  is  accordingly  nothing  whatever  that  is  visible  to  guide  their 
sourse.  It  would  bo  too  much  to  assert  that  this  faculty  is  utterly  lost  in 
civilized  man,  so  that  a  temporary  recurrence  to  the  conditions  of  barbaric 
life  might  not  revive  it ;  but  even  if  retained  at  all,  it  is  certainly  kej>t  quite 
'ja  aheyanca. 


CH.  XXI.]     GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  301 

through  which  his  correspondences  reach  limited  to  the  sur- 
face and  the  substance  of  the  earth.  It  stretches  into  the 
surrounding  sphere  of  infinity."  In  all  these  respects,  the 
extension  of  the  correspondence  achieved  during  the  progress 
of  civilization  has  been  much  greater  than  that  achiever 
during  the  immediately  preceding  stages  of  the  evolution  ol 
man  from  an  inferior  primate.  "From  early  races  acquainted 
only  with  neighbouring  localities,  up  to  modern  geographers 
who  specify  the  latitude  and  longitude  of  every  place  on  the 
globe ;  from  the  ancient  builders  and  metallurgists,  knowing 
but  surface  deposits,  up  to  the  geologists  of  our  day  whose 
data  in  some  cases  enable  them  to  describe  the  material 
existing  at  a  depth  never  yet  reached  by  the  miner ;  from 
the  savage  barely  able  to  say  in  how  many  days  a  full  moon 
will  return,  up  to  the  astronomer  who  ascertains  the  period 
of  revolution  of  a  double  star  ; — there  has  been  "  an  enormous 
"  widening  of  the  surrounding  region  throughout  which  the 
adjustment  of  inner  to  outer  relations  extends."  ^  It  only 
remains  to  add  that  the  later  and  more  conspicuous  stages  of 
this  progress  have  been  determined  by  that  increase  in  the 
size  and  heterogeneity  of  the  social  environment  which 
results  from  the  growing  interdependence  of  communities 
once  isolated,  and  which  we  have  already  seen  to  be  the 
fundamental  element  of  progress  in  general.  For  this  inte- 
gration of  communities  has  not  only  directly  enlarged  the 
area  throughout  which  adjustments  are  required  to  be  made, 
but  it  has  indirectly  aided  the  advances  in  scientific  know- 
ledge requisite  for  making  the  adjustments. 

Great,  however,  as  has  been  the  extension  of  the  corre- 
spondence in  space  which  has  characterized  the  progress  of 
the  favoured  portion  of  humanity  from  barbarism  to  civiliza- 
tion, the  extension  of  the  correspondence  in  time  is  a  much 
more  conspicuous  and  more  distinctly  human  phenomenon, 
As  we  trace  this  kind  of  mental  evolution  through  sundry 
^  Spencer,  Princ'^lcs  of  Psychology,  vol.  L  pp.  317,  318, 


80i  COSMIC  PHILOSOPET.  [pi.  ii. 

classes  and  orders  of  the  animal  kingdom  in  an  ascending 
series,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  until  we  reach  the  higher 
mammals  the  two  kinds  of  correspondence  advance  together, 
. — the  distance  at  which  outer  relations  are  cognized  forming 
a  measure  of  the  interval  by  which  their  effects  may  be 
anticipated.  But  among  the  higher  mammals  there  is 
observed  a  higher  order  of  adjustments  to  future  emer- 
gencies, which  advances  more  rapidly  than  the  extension  of 
the  correspondence  in  space,  and  which  in  the  human  race 
first  acquires  a  notable  development.  "  Not  that  the  transi- 
tion is  sudden,"  observes  Mr.  Spencer.  "During  the  first 
stages  of  human  progress,  the  method  of  estimating  epochs 
does  not  differ  in  nature  from  that  employed  by  the  more 
intelligent  animals.  There  are  historical  traces  of  the 
fact  that  originally  the  civilized  races  adjusted  their  actions 
to  the  lonfjer  sequences  in  the  environment  just  as  Aus- 
tralians and  Bushmen  do  now,  by  observing  their  coincidence 
with  the  migrations  of  birds,  the  floodings  of  rivers,  the 
flowerings  of  plants.  And  it  is  obvious  that  the  savages 
who,  after  the  ripening  of  a  certain  berry,  travel  to  the  sea- 
shore, knowing  that  they  will  then  find  a  particular  shell-fish 
in  scivson,  are  guided  by  much  the  same  process  as  the  dog 
who,  on  seeing  the  cloth  laid  for  dinner,  goes  to  the  window 
to  watch  for  his  master.  But  when  these  phenomena  of  the 
season?  are  observed  to  coincide  with  recurring  phenomena 
in  the  heavens, — when,  as  was  the  case  with  the  aboriginal 
Hottentots,  periods  come  to  be  measured  partly  by  astro- 
nomical and  partly  by  terrestrial  changes, — then  we  see 
making  its  appearance  a  means  whereby  the  correspondence 
in  time  may  be  indefinitely  extended.  The  sun's  daily 
movements  and  the  monthly  phases  of  the  moon  having  once. 
been  generalized,  and  some  small  power  of  counting  having 
)een  reached,  it  becomes  possible  to  recognize  the  interval 
setween  antecedents  and  consequents  that  are  long  apart, 
md  to  adjust  the  actions  to  them.     Multitudes  of  sequence* 


OH.  xxi.l     GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY,  303 

in  the  environment  which,  in  the  absence  of  answering  func- 
tional periods,  cannot  be  directly  responded  to  by  the  or- 
ganism, may  be  discerned  and  indirectly  responded  to  when 
there  arises  this  ability  of  numbering  days  and  lunations."  ^ 

In  the  advance  to  high  stages  of  civilization,  the  extension 
of  the  correspondence  in  time  is  most  conspicuously  exempli- 
fied in  the  habitual  adjustment  of  our  theories  and  actions  to 
sequences  more  or  less  remote  in  the  future.  In  no  othei 
respect  is  civilized  man  more  strikingly  distinguished  from 
the  barbarian  than  in  his  power  to  adapt  his  conduct  tc 
future  events,  whether  contingent  or  certain  to  occur.  The 
ability  to  forego  present  enjoyment  in  order  to  avoid  the  risk 
of  future  disaster  is  what  we  call  prudence  or  providence  ; 
and  the  barbarian  is  above  all  things  imprudent  and  impro- 
vident. Doubtless  the  superior  prudence  of  the  civilized 
man  is  due  in  great  part  to  his  superior  power  of  self- 
restraint  ;  so  that  this  class  of  phenomena  may  be  regarded 
as  illustrating  one  of  the  phases  of  moral  progress.  Never- 
theless there  are  several  purely  intellectual  elements  which 
enter  as  important  factors  into  the  case.  The  power  of 
economizing  in  harvest-time  or  in  youth,  in  order  to  retain 
something  upon  which  to  live  comfortably  in  winter  or  in 
old  age,  is  obviously  dependent  upon  the  vividness  with 
which  distant  sets  of  circumstances  can  be  pictured  in  the 
imagination.  The  direction  of  the  volitions  involved  in 
the  power  of  self-restraint  must  be  to  a  great  extent  deter- 
mined by  the  comparative  vividness  with  which  the  distant 
circumstances  and  the  present  circumstances  are  mentally 
realized.  And  the  power  of  distinctly  imagining  objective 
relations  not  present  to  sense  is  probably  the  most  fundamen- 
tal of  the  many  intellectual  differences  between  the  civilized 
^an  and  the  barbarian,  since  it  underlies  both  the  class  of 
phenomena  which  we  are  now  considering;,  and  the  class  of 
phenomena  comprised  in  artistic,  scientitic,  and  philosophio 
*  Spencer,  op.  cit.  i.  326. 


304  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  h. 

progress.  The  savage,  with  his  small  and  undevelcped  cere- 
brum, plays  all  summer,  like  the  grasshopper  in  the  fable,  eat- 
ing and  wasting  whatever  he  can  get ;  for  although  he  Icnowa 
that  the  dreaded  winter  is  coming,  during  which  he  must  starvf 
and  shiver,  he  is  nevertheless  unable  to  realize  these  distani 
feelings  with  suf&cient  force  to  determine  his  volition  in  the 
presence  of  his  actual  feeling  of  repugnance  to  toil  But 
the  civilized  man,  with  his  large  and  complex  cerebrum,  has 
BO  keen  a  sense  of  remote  contingencies  that  he  willingly 
submits  to  long  years  of  drudgery,  in  order  to  avoid  poverty 
in  old  age,  pays  out  each  year  a  portion  of  his  hard-earned 
money  to  provide  for  losses  by  fire  which  may  never  occur, 
builds  houses  and  accumulates  fortunes  for  posterity  to  enjoy, 
and  now  and  then  enacts  laws  to  forestall  possible  disturb- 
ances or  usurpations  a  century  hence.  Again,  the  progress 
of  scientific  knowledge,  familiarizing  civilized  man  with  the 
idea  of  an  inexorable  regularity  of  sequence  among  events, 
greatly  assists  him  in  the  adjustment  of  his  actions  to  far- 
distant  emergencies.  He  who  ascribes  certain  kinds  of  suffer- 
ing to  antecedent  neglect  of  natural  laws  is  more  likely  to 
shape  his  conduct  so  as  to  avoid  a  recurrence  of  the  infliction, 
than  he  who  attributes  the  same  kinds  of  suffering  to  the 
wrath  of  an  offended  quasi-human  Deity,  and  fondly  hopes, 
by  ceremonial  propitiation  of  the  Deity,  to  escape  in  future. 

This  power  of  shaping  actions  so  as  to  meet  future  contin- 
gencies has  been  justly  recognized  by  politi<5al  economists  as 
an  indispensable  pre-requisite  to  the  accumulation  of  wealth 
in  any  community,  without  which  no  considerable  degree 
of  progress  can  be  attained.  The  impossibility  of  getting 
barbarians  to  work,  save  under  the  stimulus  of  actually 
present  necessities,  has  been  one  of  the  chief  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  missionaries  who  have  attempted  to  civilize  tribal 
communities.  The  Jesuits,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  were 
the  most  successful  of  Christian  missionaries,  and  their  pro- 
ceedings with  the  Indians  of  Paraguay  constitute  one  of  tho 


en.  XXI.]     QIJNESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  305 

most  brilliant  feats  in  missionary  annals.  Sucli  unparalleled 
ascendency  did  the  priests  acquire  over  the  imaginations 
of  these  barbarians  that  they  actually  made  them  cease 
from  warfare.  They  taught  them  European  methods  of 
agriculture,  as  well  as  the  arts  of  house-building,  painting, 
dyeing,  furniture-making,  even  the  use  of  watches  ;  and  they 
administered  the  affairs  of  the  community  with  a  despotic 
power  which  has  seldom  been  equalled  either  in  absoluteness 
or  in  beneficence.  ^Nevertheless  the  superficiality  of  all  this 
show  of  civilization  was  illustrated  by  the  fact  that,  unless 
perpetually  watched,  the  workmen  would  go  home  leaving 
their  oxen  yoked  to  the  plough,  or  w^ould  even  cut  them  up 
for  supper  if  no  other  meat  happened  to  be  at  hand. 
Examples  of  a  state  of  things  intermediate  between  this 
barbaric  improvidence  and  the  care-taking  foresight  of  the 
European  are  to  be  found  among  the  Chinese, — a  people 
who  have  risen  far  above  barbarism,  but  whose  civilization 
is  still  of  a  primitive  type.  The  illustration  is  rendered 
.  peculiarly  forcible  by  the  fact  that  the  Chinese  are  a  very 
industrious  people,  and  where  the  returns  for  labour  are 
immediate  will  work  as  steadily  as  Germans  or  Americans. 
Owing  to  their  crowded  population,  every  rood  of  ground  is 
needed  for  cultivation,  and  upon  their  great  rivers  the 
traveller  continually  meets  with  little  floating  farms  con- 
Btructed  upon  rafts  and  held  in  place  by  anchors.  Yet  side 
by  side  with  these  elaborate  but  fragile  structures  are  to  be 
seen  acres  of  swamp-land  which  only  need  a  few  years  of 
careful  draining  to  become  permanently  fit  for  tillage.  So 
incapable  are  the  Chinese  of  adapting  their  actions  to 
sequences  at  all  remote,  that  they  continue,  age  after  age, 
to  resort  to  such  temporary  devices,  rather  than  to  bestow 
\Jieir  labour  where  its  fruits,  however  enduring,  cannot  be 
enjoyed  from  the  outset.^  The  contrast  proves  that  the 
cause  is  the  intellectual  inability  to  realize  vividly  a  group  of 

^  See  Mill,  Political  Economy,  book  i.  chap  xi. 
VOL.  II.  X 


306  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii. 

future  conditions,  involving  benefits  not  immediately  to  be 
felt. 

Of  the  correspondence  in  time,  even  more  forcibly  than  of 
the  correspondence  in  space,  it  may  be  said  that  its  extension 
during  the  process  of  social  evolution  has  been  much  greater 
than  during  the  organic  evolution  of  the  human  race  from 
some  ancestral  primate.  Between  the  Australian,  on  the  one 
hand,  who  cannot  estimate  the  length  of  a  month,  or  provide 
even  for  certain  disaster  which  does  not  stare  him  in  the 
face,  and  whose  theory  of  things  is  adapted  only  to  events 
which  occur  during  his  own  lifetime ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  European,  with  his  practical  foresight,  his  elaborate 
scientific  previsions,  and  his  systems  of  philosophy,  which 
embrace  alike  the  earliest  traceable  cosmical  changes  and  the 
latest  results  of  civilization  ;  the  intellectual  gulf  is  certainly 
far  wider  than  that  which  divides  the  Australian  from  the 
fox  who  hides  the  bird  which  he  has  killed,  in  order  to 
return  when  hungry  to  eat  it. 

It  remains  to  add  that  the  later  and  more  conspicuous 
stages  of  this  kind  of  intellectual  progress  have  obviously 
been  determined  by  the  increase  in  the  size  and  heterogeneity 
of  the  social  environment.  For  the  integration  of  commu- 
nities to  which  this  increase  is  due  has  not  only  indirectly 
aided  the  advances  in  scientific  knowledge  requisite  for 
making  mental  adjustments  to  long  sequences,  past  and 
future,  but  it  has  also  directly  assisted  the  disposition  to 
work  patiently  in  anticipation  of  future  returns,  by  increas- 
ing the  general  security  and  diminishing  the  chances  that  the 
returns  to  labour  may  be  lost. 

The  extension  of  the  correspondence  between  subjective 
and  objective  relations  in  time  and  in  space  answers  to  that 
kind  of  primary  integration  which  underlies  the  process  of 
evolution  in  general.  In  treating  of  the  enlarged  area,  in 
time  and  space,  throughout  which  inner  relations  are  adjusted 
bo  outer  relations,  we  have  been  treating  of  intellectual  pro- 


CH.  XXI.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY,  307 

gress  regarded  as  a  growth.  But  in  proceeding  to  speak  of 
the  increasing  heterogeneity,  defiuiteness,  and  coheience  of 
the  adjustments,  we  proceed  to  treat  of  intellectual  progress 
regarded  as  a  development.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  throughout 
all  save  the  simplest  orders  of  evolution,  quantitative  increase 
is  accompanied  by  qualitative  increase.  The  knowledge  ia 
not  only  greater  and  the  intellectual  capacity  greater,  hut 
the  knowledge  is  more  complex,  accurate,  and  unified,  and 
the  intellectual  capacity  is  more  varied. 

The  increase  of  the  correspondence  in  defiuiteness  may  be 
sufficiently  illustrated  by  the  following  brief  citation  from 
Mr.  Spencer :  "  Manifestly  the  reduction  of  objective  pheno- 
mena to  definite  measures  gives  to  those  subjective  actions 
that  correspond  with  them  a  degree  of  precision,  a  special 
fitness,  greatly  beyond  that  possessed  by  ordinary  actions. 
There  is  an  immense  contrast  in  this  respect  between  the 
doings  of  the  astronomer  wlio,  on  a  certain  day,  hour,  and 
minute,  adjusts  his  instrument  to  watch  an  eclipse,  and  those 
of  the  farmer  who  so  arranges  his  work  that  he  may  have 
hando  enough  for  reaping  some  time  in  August  or  September. 
The  chemist  who  calculates  how  many  pounds  of  quicklime 
will  be  required  to  decompose  and  precipitate  all  the  bicar- 
bonate of  lime  which  the  water  in  a  given  reservoir  contains 
in  a  certain  percentage,  exhibits  an  adjustment  of  inner  to 
outer  relations  incomparably  more  specific  than  does  the 
laundress  M^ho  softens  a  tubful  of  hard  water  by  a  handful 
of  soda.  In  their  adaptations  to  external  coexistences  and 
sequences,  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  the  proceedings 
of  ancient  besiegers,  whose  battering-rams  were  indeterminate 
in  their  actions,  and  those  of  modern  artillery  officers,  who, 
by  means  of  a  specific  quantity  of  powder,  consisting  of 
specific  ingredients,  in  specific  proportions,  placed  in  a  tube 
at  a  specific  inclination,  send  a  bomb  of  specific  weight  on  to 
b  specific   object,   and    cause  it   to   explode  at    a   specific 

X  2 


308  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  it 

moment."^  It  only  remains  to  note  tliat  the  difference  in 
specific  accuracy,  here  illustrated  by  contrasting  the  opera- 
tions of  science  with  those  of  ordinary  knowledge,  is  equally 
conspicuous  when,  on  a  somewhat  wider  scale,  we  contrast 
the  proceedings,  both  scientific  and  artistic,  of  civilized  men 
with  the  proceedings  of  the  lowest  savages.  The  most 
ignorant  man  in  New  England  probably  knows  in  June  that 
winter  is  just  sis  months  distant;  the  Australian,  to  whoa., 
as  to  the  civilized  child,  time  appears  to  go  slowly,  knows 
only  that  it  is  a  long  way  off.  So,  too,  the  crude  knives  and 
hammers  and  the  uncouth  pottery  of  primeval  men  are 
distinguished  alike  by  their  indefiniteness  of  contour,  and  by 
their  uselessness  in  operations  which  require  specific  accuracy. 
And  here,  as  before,  in  the  extreme  vagueness  and  lack  of 
speciality,  both  in  his  knowledge  and  in  the  actions  which 
are  guided  by  it,  the  primeval  man  appears  to  stand  nearer  to 
the  highest  brutes  than  to  the  civilized  moderns. 

Along  with  this  increase  in  specialization,  entailing 
greater  definiteness  of  adjustment,  there  goes  on  an  in- 
crease in  generalization,  involving  an  increased  power  of 
abstraction,  of  which  barely  the  germs  are  to  be  found  either 
in  the  lowest  men  or  in  other  highly  organized  mammals. 
The  inability  of  savage  races  to  make  generalizations  in- 
volving any  abstraction  is  sufficiently  proved  by  the  absence 
or  extreme  paucity  of  abstract  expressions  in  their  languages. 
As  Mr.  Tarrar  observes,  "  The  Society-Islanders  have  words 
for  dog's  tail,  bird's  tail,  and  sheep's  tail,  yet  no  word  for 
tail ;  the  Mohicans  have  verbs  for  every  kind  of  cutting,  and 
yet  no  verb  '  to  cut.'  The  Australians  have  no  generic  term 
for  fish,  bird,  or  tree.  The  Malays  have  no  term  for  tree  or 
herb,  yet  they  have  words  for  fibre,  root,  tree-crown,  stalk, 
stock,  trunk,  twig,  and  shoot.  Some  American  tongues  have 
Beparate  verbs  for  '  I  wish  to  eat  meat,'  and  '  I  wish  to  eat  soup, 
■DUt  nc  verb  for  'I  wish' ;  and  separate  words  for  a  blow  M'ith 
1  Spencer,  op.  ciL  i.  340. 


CH.  XXI.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  809 

a  sharp  and  a  blow  with  a  blunt  instrument,  but  no  abstract 
word  for  blow,"^  Between  the  stage  of  intellectual  progress 
thus  illustrated  and  that  in  which  an  unlimited  capacity  for 
generalization  produces  snch  words  as  "individuation"  or 
"equilibration,"  the  contrast  is  sufficiently  obvious;  and  it 
fully  confirms  our  theorem,  that  the  amount  of  intellectual 
progress  achieved  since  man  became  human  far  exceeds  that 
which  was  needed  to  transfer  him  from  apehood  to  manhood. 
The  increase  of  the  correspondence  in  complexity,  already 
illustrated  incidentally  in  the  treatment  of  these  other 
aspects  of  the  case,  is  still  further  exemplified  in  the  growing 
complication  of  the  interdependence  between  science  and 
the  arts.  When  tracing  the  complexity  of  correspondence 
through  the  lower  stages  of  the  evolution  of  intelligence  in 
the  animal  kingdom,  Mr.  Spencer  hints  that  tlie  evolution  of 
the  executive  faculties  displayed  in  the  organs  of  prehension 
and  locomotion  is  closely  related  to  that  of  the  directive 
faculties  displayed  in  the  cephalic  ganglia  and  in  the  organs 
of  sense.  The  parallelism  may  be  summed  up  in  the  state- 
ment that  in  most,  if  not  all,  the  principal  classes  of  the 
animal  kingdom,  the  animals  with  the  most  perfect  prehensile 
organs  are  the  most  intelligent.  Thus  the  cuttle-fish  is  the 
most  intelligent  of  mollusks,  and  the  crab  similarly  stands  at 
the  head  of  crustaceans,  while  the  parrot  outranks  all  other 
birds  alike  in  sagacity  and  in  power  of  handling  things,  and 
the  ape  and  elephant  are,  with  the  exception  of  man,  the 
most  SBgacious  of  mammals.^  Of  the  human  race,  too,  it 
may  be  said  that,  although  Anaxagoras  was  wrong  in  assert- 
ing that  brutes  would  have  been  men  had  they  had  hands, 
he  might  safely  have  asserted  that  without  hands  men  could 
never  have  become  human.  Now  this  interdependence  of 
the  directive  and  executive  faculties  is  continued  throughout 
the  process  of   social  evolution  in  the  shape  of  the  inter- 

*  Chapters  on  Language,  p.  199. 

•  Spencer,  op.  iit.  L  368—372. 


310  COSMIC  PBILOSOPHT,  [pt.  ii 

dependence  of  the  sciences  and  the  arts.  *  We  may  properly 
say  that,  in  its  higher  forms,  the  correspondence  between  the 
organism  and  its  environment  is  effected  by  means  of  supple- 
mentary senses  and  supplementary  limbs The  magni- 

fying-glass  adds  but  another  lens  to  the  lenses  existing  in 
the  eye.     The  crow-bar  is  but  one  more  lever  attached  to  the 
series  of  levers  forming  the  arm  and  hand.     And  the  rela- 
tionship, which   is   so   obvious   in   these  first   steps,    holds 
throughout."     "We  may,  indeed,  go  still  deeper,  and  say  that 
science  is  but  an  extension  of  our  ordinary  sense-perceptions 
by  the  aid  of  reasoning,  while  art  is  but  an  extension  of  the 
ordinary  function  of  our  muscular  system,  of  expressing  our 
psychical  states  by  means  of  motion.     Hence  it  is  that  "each 
great  step  towards  a  knowledge  of  laws  has  facilitated  men's 
operations  on  things ;  while  each  more  successful  operation 
on  things  has,  by  its   results,  facilitated   the   discovery  of 
further   laws."      Hence   the   sciences   and   arts,   originating 
together, — as  in  the   cases  of  "astronomy  and  agriculture, 
geometry  and  the  laying  out  of  buildings,  mechanics  and  the 
weighing  of  commodities," — have  all  along  reacted  upon  each 
other,  in  an  increasing  variety  of  ways.     It  is  sufficient  to 
mention  the  reciprocal  connections  between  navigation  and 
astronomy,  between  geology  and  mining,  between  chemistry 
and  all  the  arts ;  while  telescopes  and  microscopes  illustrate 
the  truth  that  "  there  is  scarcely  an  observation  now  made  in 
science,  but  what  involves  the  use  of  instruments  supplied 
by  the  arts ;  while  there  is  scarcely  an  art-process  but  what 
involves   some  of  the  previsions   of   science."     Just  as  in 
organic   evolution  we  find  the   mutual   dependence   of  the 
directive   and  executive  faculties   ever  increasing,   so   that 
*  complete  visual  and  tactual    perceptions    are   impossible 
without    complex    muscular    adjustments,   while    elaborate 
actions  require  the  constant  overseeing  of  the  senses  "  ;  so  in 
social  evolution  we  find  between  science  and  art  an  increas- 
?jig  reciprocity  "such  that  each  further  cognition  implies 


CH.  XX1.J    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  311 

elaborate  operative  aid,  and  eacli  new  operation  implies 
sundry  elaborate  cognitions."  I  need  only  add  that,  in  this 
as  in  the  other  aspects  of  intellectual  progress,  the  increase 
in  complexity  of  adjustment  achieved  during  the  process  of 
social  evolution  is  far  greater  tlian  that  achieved  during  the 
immediately  preceding  stages  of  the  process  of  organic 
evolution.  Between  the  ape  and  the  primitive  man,  with 
his  rude  levers  and  hatchets  and  his  few  simple  previsions, 
the  difference  in  complexity  of  correspondence  is  obviously 
less  than  between  the  primitive  man  and  the  modern,  with 
his  steam-hammers  and  thermo-electric  multipliers,  and  his 
long  list  of  sciences  and  sub-sciences,  any  one  of  which  it 
would  take  much  more  than  a  lifetime  to  master  in  detail. 

We  have  thus  passed  in  review  the  various  aspects  of 
intellectual  progress,  regarded  as  a  process  of  adjustment  oi 
inner  to  outer  relations,  and  we  have  seen  that  in  all  the 
most  essential  features  of  this  progress  there  is  a  wider  dif- 
ference between  the  civilized  man  and  the  lowest  savage  than 
between  the  savage  and  the  ape.  It  appears  that  those  rare 
and  admirable  qualities  upon  which  we  felicitate  ourselves  as 
marks  which  absolutely  distinguish  us  from  brute  animals, 
have  been  slowly  acquired  through  long  ages  of  social  evolu- 
tion, and  are  shared  only  to  a  quite  insignificant  extent  by 
the  lowest  contemporary  races  of  humanity.  As  long  as 
we  regard  things  statically,  as  for  ever  fixed,  we  may  well 
imagine  an  impassable  gulf  between  ourselves  and  all  other 
forms  of  organic  existence.  But  as  soon  as  we  regard  things 
dynamically,  as  for  ever  changing,  we  are  taught  that  the 
gulf  has  been  for  the  most  part  established  during  an  epoch 
at  the  very  beginning  of  which  we  were  zoologically  the  same 
that  we  now  are. 

The  next  step  in  our  argument  wOl  be  facilitated  by  an 
inquiry  into  the  common  characteristic  of  the  various  intel- 
lectual differences  between  the  civilized  and  the  primitive 
man  which  we  have  above  enumerated.     The  nature  of  this 


312  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  fpr.  ii 

characteristic  was  hinted  at  when  we  were  discussing  the 
improvidence  of  the  barbarian.  It  was  observed  that  the 
power  of  distinctly  imagining  objective  relations  not  present 
to  sense  is  the  most  fundamental  of  the  many  intellectual 
differences  between  the  civilized  man  and  the  barbarian. 
Making  this  statement  somewhat  wider,  we  may  now  safely 
assert  that  the  entire  intellectual  superiority  of  the  civilized 
man  over  the  savage,  or  of  the  modern  man  over  the  primeval 
man,  is  summed  up  in  his  superior  power  of  representing  that 
which  is  not  present  to  the  senses.  For  it  is  not  only  in  what 
we  call  providence  that  this  superiority  of  representation 
shows  itself,  but  also  in  all  tliose  combinations  of  present 
with  past  impressions  which  accompany  the  extension  of  the 
correspondence  in  space  and  time,  and  its  increase  in  hetero- 
geneity, definiteness,  and  coherence.  It  is  his  ability  to  re- 
produce copies  of  his  own  vanished  states  of  consciousness, 
and  of  those  of  his  fellows,  that  enables  the  civilized  man  to 
adjust  his  actions  to  sequences  occurring  at  the  antipodes. 
It  is  this  same  power  of  representation  which  underlies  his 
power  of  forming  abstract  and  general  conceptions.  For  the 
peculiarity  of  abstract  conceptions  is  that  "  the  matter  ot 
thought  is  no  longer  any  one  object,  or  any  one  action,  but  a 
trait  common  to  many  " ;  and  it  is,  therefore,  only  when  a 
number  of  distinct  objects  or  relations  possessing  some 
common  trait  can  be  represented  in  consciousness  that  there 
becomes  possible  that  comparison  which  results  in  the  ab- 
straction of  the  common  trait  as  the  object  of  thought. 
Obviously,  then,  the  greater  the  power  of  abstraction  and 
generalization  which  is  observed,  the  greater  is  the  power  of 
representation  which  is  implied.  The  case  is  the  samg  with 
that  definiteness  of  the  intellectual  processes  which  we  have 
noted  as  distinguishing  modern  from  primitive  thinking. 
For  the  conception  which  underlies  definiteness  of  thinking 
is  the  conception  of  exact  likeness, — a  highly  abstract  concep- 
tion which   can   only   be  framed   after  the   comparison  of 


en.  XXI.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  313 

numerous  represented  cases  in  whicli  degree  of  likeness  is 
the  common  trait  that  is  thought  about.  Hence  not  only 
the  improvidence  of  the  savage,  but  likewise  the  vagueness 
of  his  conceptions,  his  inability  to  form  generalizations  in- 
volving abstraction,  and  the  limited  area  covered  by  his 
adjustments,  are  facts  which  one  and  all  find  their  ultimate 
explanation  in  his  relative  incapacity  for  calling  up  repre 
eentative  states  of  consciousness. 

From  this  same  incapacity  results  that  inflexibility  of 
thought  in  which  the  savage  resembles  the  brute,  and  which 
is  one  of  the  chief  proximate  causes  of  his  unprogressive- 
ness.  "  One  of  the  greatest  pains  to  human  nature,"  says 
Mr,  Bagehot,  "  is  the  pain  of  a  new  idea."  This  pain,  which 
only  to  a  few  of  the  most  highly  cultivated  minds  in  the 
most  highly  civilized  communities  has  ceased  to  be  a  pain 
and  become  a  pleasure,  is  to  the  savage  not  so  much  a  pain  as 
a  numbing  or  paralyzing  shock.  To  rearrange  the  elements  of 
his  beliefs  is  for  the  uncivilized  man  an  almost  impossible 
task.  It  is  not  so  much  that  he  does  not  dare  to  sever  some 
traditional  association  of  ideas  which  he  was  taught  in  child- 
hood, as  it  is  that  he  is  incapable  of  holding  together  in 
thought  the  clusters  of  representations  with  the  continuity 
of  which  the  given  association  is  incompatible.  This  im- 
portant point  is  so  ably  and  succinctly  stated  by  Mr.  Spencer, 
that  I  cannot  do  better  than  to  quote  his  exposition  entire. 
After  reminding  us  that  "  mental  evolution,  both  intellectual 
and  emotional,  may  be  measured  by  the  degree  of  remote- 
ness from  primitive  reflex  action,"  Mr.  Spencer  observes  that 
"  in  reflex  action,  which  is  the  action  of  nervous  structures 
that  effect  few,  simple,  and  often-repeated  coordinations,  tht 
sequent  nervous  state  follows  irresistibly  the  antecedent 
nervous  state ;  and  does  this  not  only  for  the  reason  that 
the  discharge  follows  a  perfectly  permeable  channel,  but-  also 
for  the  reason  thai  no  alterxi.ative  channel  exists.  From  this 
stage,  in  which  the  psychical  life  is  automatically  restrained 


314  COSMIC  PHILOSOFHY,  t^T.  ii. 

williin  the  narrowest  limits,  up  througli  higher  stages  in 
which  increasing  nervous  complexities  give  increasing  varie- 
ties of  actions  and  possibilities  of  new  combinations,  the 
process  continues  the  same ;  and  it  continues  the  same  a? 
we  advance  from  the  savage  to  the  civilized  man,  For  where 
the  life  furnishes  relatively  few  and  little- varied  experiences, 
where  the  restricted  sphere  in  which  it  is  passed  yields  no 
sign  of  the  multitudinous  combinations  of  phenomena  that 
occur  elsewhere,  the  thought  follows  irresistibly  one  or  other 
of  the  few  channels  which  the  experiences  have  made  for  it, 
— cannot  be  determined  in  some  other  direction  for  want  of 
some  other  channel.  But  as  fast  as  advancing  civilization 
brings  more  numerous  experiences  to  each  man,  as  well  as 
accumulations  of  other  men's  experiences,  past  and  present, 
the  ever-multiplying  connections  of  ideas  that  result  imply 
ever-multiplying  possibilities  of  thought.  The  convictions 
throughout  a  wide  range  of  cases  are  rendered  less  fixed. 
Other  causes  than  those  which  are  usual  become  conceivable  ; 
other  effects  can  be  imagined ;  and  hence  there  comes  an  in- 
creasing modifiability  of  opinion.  This  modifiability  of  opinion 
reaches  its  extreme  in  those  most  highly  cultured  persons 
whose  multitudinous  experiences  include  many  experiences 
of  errors  discovered,  and  whose  representativeness  of  thought 
is  so  far-reaching  that  they  habitually  call  to  mind  the 
various  possibilities  of  error,  as  constituting  a  general  reason 
for  seeking  new  evidence  and  subjecting  their  conclusions  to 
revision. 

"  If  we  glance  over  the  series  of  contrasted  modes  of 
thinking  which  civilization  presents,  beginning  with  the 
savage  who,  seized  by  the  fancy  that  something  is  a  charm 
or  an  omen,  thereafter  continues  firmly  fixed  in  that  belief, 
and  ending  with  the  man  of  science  whose  convictions,  firm 
where  he  is  conscious  of  long-accumulated  evidence  having 
no  exception,  are  plastic  where  the  evidence  though  abun« 
daut  is  not  yet  overwhelming,  we  see  how  an  increase  iii 


CH.  XXI.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY,  315 

freedom  of  thought  goes  along  with  that  higher  represeata- 
tiveness  accompanying  further  mental  evolution."  ^ 

If  now  we  inquire  for  a  moment  into  the  causes  of  this 
higher  representativeness  of  civilized  thinking,  we  shall  see 
most  beautifully  exemplified  the  way  in  which  intellectual 
Drogress,  as  it  goes  on  in  the  human  race,  is  determined  by 
social  evolution.  Intellectual  progress  is  indeed  a  cause  as 
well  as  a  consequence  of  tlie  evolution  of  society  ;  but  amid 
the  dense  entanglement  of  causes  and  effects  our  present 
purpose  requires  us  to  single  out  especially  the  dependence 
of  progress  in  representativeness  upon  social  complexity, 
since  herein  will  be  found  the  secret  of  the  mental  pre- 
eminence of  civilized  man.  !N"ow  the  integration  of  small 
tribes  into  larger  and  more  complex  social  aggregates,  which 
is  the  fundamental  phenomenon  in  civilization,  tends  directly 
to  heighten  representativeness  of  thinking  by  widening  and 
varying  the  experiences  of  the  members  of  society.  The 
member  of  a  savage  tribe  must  think  indefinitely,  concretely, 
rigidly,  improvidently,  because  his  intellectual  experiences 
are  so  few  in  number  and  so  monotonous  in  character.  In- 
crease in  social  complexity  renders  possible,  or  indeed  directly 
produces,  fresh  associations  of  ideas  in  greater  and  greater 
variety  and  abundance,  so  that  the  decomposition  and  re- 
combination of  thoughts  involved  in  abstraction  and  genera- 
lization is  facilitated ;  and  along  with  this,  the  definiteness 
and  the  plasticity  of  thought  is  increased,  and  the  contents 
of  the  mind  become  representative  in  higher  and  higher 
degrees.  Thus  in  every  way  it  is  brought  before  us  that 
sociality  has  been  the  great  agent  in  the  achievement  of 
man's  intellectual  pre-eminence,  and  that  it  has  operated  by 
widening  and  diversifying  human  experience,  or  in  other 
words  by  increasing  the  number,  remoteness,  and  hetero- 
geneity of  the  environing  relations  to  which  each  individual's 
actions   have   had  to   be   adjusted.      An   inquiry  into   the 

*  Spencer,  op.  cit.  ii.  624. 


316  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHT,  [it.  il 

genesis  of  sociality  will  therefore  best  show  us  how  the 
chasm  which  divides  ujan  intellectually  from  the  brute  is  to 
be  crossed. 

But  before  we  proceed  to  this  somewhat  lengthy  and  cir- 
cuitous inquiry,  we  may  profitably  contemplate  under  a  new 
aspect  the  intellectual  difference  which  we  have  assigned  as 
the  fundamental  one  between  civilized  and  primeval  man. 
We  have  observed  that  the  intellectual  superiority  of  man 
over  brute  and  of  the  civilized  man  over  the  barbarian  essen- 
tially consists  in  a  greater  capacity  for  mentally  representing 
objects  and  relations  remote  from  sense.  And  we  have 
insisted  upon  the  point  that  in  this  capacity  of  representation 
the  difference  between  the  highest  and  lowest  specimens  of 
normal  humanity  known  to  us  far  exceeds  the  difference 
between  the  lowest  men  and  the  highest  apes.  Now  in 
closest  connection  with  these  conclusions  stands  the  physical 
fact  that  the  chief  structural  difference  between  man  and 
ape,  as  also  between  civilized  and  uncivilized  man,  is  the 
difference  in  size  and  complexity  of  cerebrum.  The  cerebrum 
is  the  organ  especially  set  apart  for  the  compounding  and  re- 
compounding  of  impressions  that  are  not  immediately  sensory. 
The  business  of  coordinating  immediately  presentative  im- 
pressions is  performed  by  the  medulla  and  other  subordinate 
centres.  The  cerebrum  is  especially  the  organ  of  that  portion 
of  psychical  life  which  is  entirely  representative.^  Obviously, 
then,  the  progress  to  higher  and  higher  representativeness 
ought  to  be  accompanied  by  a  well-marked  growth  of  the 
cerebrum  relatively  to  the  other  parts  of  the  nervous  system. 
Now,  in  the  light  of  the  present  argument,  how  significant 
is  the  fact  that  the  cranial  capacity  of  the  modern  English- 
man surpasses  that  of  the  aboriginal  non-Aryan  Hindu 
by  a  difference  of  sixty-eight  cubic  inches,^  while  between 
this  Hindu  skull  and  the  skull  of  the  gorilla  the  difference 

^  See  above,  p.  137. 

•  Lyell,  Antiquity  of  Man,  p.  84 


m.  XXI.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  317 

in  capacity  is  but  eleven  cubic  inches!  That  is  to  say,  the 
difference  in  volume  of  brain  between  the  highest  and  the 
lowest  man  is  at  least  six  times  as  great  as  the  difference 
between  the  lowest  man  and  the  highest  ape.  And  if  we 
were  to  take  into  the  account  the  differences  in  structural 
complexity,  as  indicated  by  the  creasing  and  furrowing 
of  the  brain-surface,  we  should  obtain  a  yet  more  astonishing 
contrast.  Yet,  powerfully  as  this  anatomical  fact  confirms 
the  position  we  have  all  along  been  upholding,  its  full  value 
will  not  be  apparent  if  we  are  so  dazzled  by  it  as  to  overlook 
the  significance  of  the  lesser  difference  between  the  gorilla 
and  the  aboriginal  inhabitant  of  India.  As  the  Duke  of  Argyll 
very  properly  observes,  we  do  riglit  in  setting  a  higher 
value  in  classification  upon  the  eleven  inches  which  intervene 
between  the  gorilla  and  the  Hindu  than  upon  the  sixty-eight 
inches  which  intervene  between  the  Hindu  and  the  English- 
man. For  "  the  significance  set  by  the  facts  of  nature  upon  that 
difference  of  eleven  cubic  inches  ....  is  the  difference  between 
an  irrational  brute  confined  to  some  one  climate  and  to  some 
limited  area  of  the  globe, — which  no  outward  conditions  can 
modify  or  improve, — and  a  being  equally  adapted  to  the 
whole  habitable  world,  with  powers,  however  undeveloped,  of 
comparison,  of  reflection,  of  judgment,  of  reason,  with  a  sense 
of  right  and  wrong,  and  with  all  these  capable  of  accumu- 
lated acquisition,  and  therefore  of  indefinite  advance." 
Though  somewhat  exaggerated  in  what  it  denies  to  the 
brute,  and  much  more  in  what  it  claims  for  the  aboriginal 
man,  this  statement  contains  a  kernel  of  truth  which  is  of 
value  for  our  present  purpose,  and  which  is  further  illustrated 
by  the  fact  that  a  minimum  of  brain- substance  "is  constantly 
and  uniformly  associated  with  all  the  other  anatomical 
peculiarities  of  man.  Below  that  minimum  the  whole 
ftccompanying  structure  undergoes  far  more  than  a  corre- 
Bponding  change, — even  the  whole  change  between  the  lowest 
savage   and   the   highest  ape.     Above   that   minimum,   all 


318  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  il 

sulDsequent  variations  in  quantity  are  accompanied  by  no 
changes  whatever  in  physical  structure."  ^  Here  again, 
though  the  antithesis  is  a  little  too  absolutely  stated,  we  have 
set  before  us  a  real  distinction.  Up  to  a  certain  point,  the 
brain  and  the  rest  of  the  body  are  alike  alterable  by  natural 
selection  and  such  other  agencies  as  may  be  concerned  in  the 
slow  modification  of  organisms.  But  when  the  brain  has 
reached  a  certain  point  in  size  and  complexity,  the  rest  of  the 
body  ceases  to  change,  save  in  a  few  slight  particulars,  and 
the  agencies  concerned  in  forwarding  the  process  of  evolution 
seem  to  confine  themselves  to  the  brain,  and  especially  to  the 
cerebrum, — the  result  being  marked  psychical  development, 
unattended  by  any  notable  physical  alteration.  Here  we 
have  reached  a  fact  of  prime  importance.  We  may  grant  to 
the  Duke  of  Argyll  that  when  those  eleven  additional  cubic 
inches  of  brain  had  been  acquired,  some  kind  of  a  Eubicon 
had  been  crossed,  and  a  new  state  of  things  inaugurated. 
What  was  that  Eubicon  ? 

The  answer  has  been  furnished  by  Mr.  Wallace,  and  must 
rank  as  one  of  the  most  brilliant  contributions  ever  yet  made 
to  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution.  Since  inferior  animals  respond 
chiefly  by  physical  changes  to  changes  in  their  environment, 
natural  selection  deals  chiefly  v/ith  such  changes,  to  the 
visible  modification  of  their  bodily  structure.  In  the  case  of 
sheep  or  bears,  for  instance,  increased  cold  can  only  select  for 
preservation  the  individuals  most  warmly  coated ;  or  if  a  race 
of  lions,  which  has  hitherto  subsisted  upon  small  and  sluggish 
ruminants  until  these  have  been  nearly  exterminated,  is  at 
last  obliged  to  attack  antelopes  and  buffaloes,  natural  selection 
can  only  preserve  the  swiftest  and  strongest  or  most  ferocious 
lions.  But  when  an  animal  has  once  appeared,  endowed  with 
iufficient  intelligence  to  chip  a  stone  tool  and  hurl  a  weapon, 
latural  selection  will  take  advantage  of  variations  in  this 
mtelligence,  to  the  comparative  neglect  of  purely  physical 

*  Duke  of  Argyll,  Primeval  Man,  pp.  67 — 64. 


ra.  XXI.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  319 

variations.  Communities  whose  members  are  "best  able  to 
meet  by  intelligent  contrivances  the  changes  in  the  environ- 
ment will  prevnil  over  otlier  communities,  and  will  also  be 
less  easily  destroyed  by  physical  catastrophes.  Still  more 
strikingly  must  this  superior  availability  o:  variations  in 
intelligence  be  exemplified,  when  the  intelligence  has  pro- 
gressed so  far  as  to  sharpen  spears,  to  use  rude  bows,  to  dig 
pitfalls,  to  cover  the  body  with  leaves  or  skins,  and  to  strike 
fire  by  rubbing  sticks,  according  to  the  Indian  version  of  the 
myth  of  Prometheus. 

So  soon,  in  short,  as  the  intelligence  of  an  animal  has, 
through  ages  of  natural  selection  and  direct  adaptation,  be- 
come so  considerable  that  a  slight  variation  in  it  is  of  more 
use  to  the  animal  than  any  variation  in  physical  structure, 
then  such  variations  will  be  more  and  more  constantly 
selected,  while  purely  physical  variations,  being  of  less  vital 
importance  to  the  species,  will  be  relatively  more  and  more 
neglected.  Thus,  while  the  external  appearance  of  such  an 
animal,  and  the  structure  of  his  internal  nutritive  and  mus- 
cular apparatus,  may  vary  but  little  in  many  ages,  his  cere- 
bral structure  will  vary  with  comparative  rapidity,  entailing 
a  more  or  less  rapid  variation  in  intellectual  and  emotional 
attributes. 

Here  we  would  seem  to  havd  the  key  to  the  singular  con- 
trast in  'the  relations  of  man  to  contemporary  anthropoid 
apes.  AVe  may  now  understand  why  man  differs  so  little, 
in  general  physical  structure  and  external  appearance,  from 
the  chimpanzee  and  gorilla,  while,  with  regard  to  the 
special  point  of  cerebral  structure  and  its  correlative  intel- 
ligence, he  differs  so  vastly  from  these,  his  nearest  living 
congeners,  and  the  most  sagacious  of  animals  save  himself. 
Coupled  with  what  we  now  know  concerning  the  immense 
antiquity  of  the  human  race,  Mr.  Wallace's  brilliant  sugges- 
tion goes  far  to  bridge  over  the  interval,  which  formerly 
•eemed  so  impracticable,  between   brute  and   man.     If  wi 


320  COSMIC  PEILOSOPHT,  [pt.  n. 

take  the  thousands  of  centuries  during  which  the  human  race 
has  covered  both  the  eastern  and  the  western  hemispheres, 
and  compare  with  them  the  entire  duration  of  recorded 
human  history,  we  shall  have  set  before  us  a  profitable  subject 
of  reflection.  Since  the  period  during  which  man  has  pos- 
sessed sufficient  intelligence  to  leave  a  traditionary  -record  oj 
himself  is  but  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  the  period  during 
which  he  has  existed^  upon  the  earth,  it  is  hut  fair  to  conclude 
that,  during  those  long  ages  of  which  none  hut  a  geologic  record 
of  his  existence  remains,  he  was  slovAy  acquiring  that  superior 
intelligence  which  now  so  widely  distinguishes  him  from  all 
other  animals}  Throughout  an  enormous  period  of  time,  his 
brain-structure  and  its  correlated  intellectual  and  emotional 
functions  must  have  been  constantly  modified  both  by  natural 
selection  and  by  direct  adaptation,  while  his  outward  physical 
appearance  has  undergone  few  modifications  ;  and  of  these 
the  most  striking  would  seem  to  be  directly  or  indirectly 
consequent  upon  the  cerebral  changes.* 

1  The  reader  will  not  fail  to  note  that,  even  were  the  question  otherwise 
left  open,  after  the  conclusive  evidence  summarized  in  chapter  ix.,  this  point 
by  itself  is  a  point  of  truly  enormous  weight  in  favour  of  the  theory  of  man's 
descent  from  some  lower  animal.  Upon  the  theory  that  the  humau  race  was 
created  by  a  special  miraculous  act,  its  long  duration  in  such  utter  silence  is 
a  meaningless,  inexplicable  fact ;  whereas,  upon  the  derivation  theory,  it  u 
just  what  might  be  expected. 

*  To  the  general  observer,  as  to  the  anatomist,  the  most  notable  points  of 
difference  between  civilized  and  uncivilized  man,  as  well  as  between  man  and 
the  chimpanzee  or  gorilla,  are  the  dilferences  in  the  size  of  the  jaws  and  the 
inclination  of  the  forehead.  The  latter  diffpreuce  is  directly  consequent  upon 
increase  of  intelligence  ;  and  the  former  is  indirectly  occasioned  by  the  same 
circumstance.  For  the  diminution  of  the  jaws,  entailed  by  civilization,  is, 
no  doubt,  primarily  due  to  disuse  ;  and  the  disuse  is  occasioned  partly  by  dif- 
ference in  food,  and  partly  by  the  employment  of  tools,  and  the  consequent 
increased  reliance  upon  the  hands  as  prehensile  organs.  All  these  circum- 
stances are  the  result  of  increased  intelligence.  And  in  addition  to  this,  it  la 
probable  that  increased  frontal  development  has  directly  tended,  by  correla- 
tion of  growth,  to  diminish  the  size  of  the  jaws,  as  well  as  to  push  forward 
the  bridge  of  the  nose.  To  the  increased  reliance  upon  the  hands  as  prehen- 
sile organs — a  circumstance  which  we  have  seen  to  be  in  an  especial  degre« 
characteristic  of  developing  intelligence — is  probably  also  due  the  complett 
attainment  of  the  erect  position  of  the  body,  already  partially  obtained  bj 
the  anthropoid  ajies.  Cerebral  development  thus  accounts  for  all  the  con 
ipicuous  physical  ]ieculiarities  of  man  except  his  bare  skin, — a  pheuomenoi 
lor  which  no  satisfactory  explanation  has  yet  been  suggested. 


m.  XXI.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY.  321 

It  is  a  corollary  from  the  foregoing  considerations,  that  no 
race  of  organisms  can  in  future  be  produced  throi.gh  the 
agency  of  natural  selection  and  direct  adaptation,  which  shall 
be  zoologically  distinct  from,  and  superior  to,  the  human  race. 
As  the  same  causes  which  physically  modify  lower  species 
have,  for  countless  ages,  modified  man  directly  and  greatly  in 
intelligence  and  only  indirectly  and  slightly  in  physical  con- 
stitution, it  follows  that  mankind  is  destined  to  advance 
during  future  ages  in  psychical  attributes,  but  is  likely  to 
undergo  only  slight  changes  in  outward  appearance.  It  is 
by  the  coordination  of  intellectual  and  moral  relations  that 
man  maintains  himself  in  equilibrium  with  the  physical,  in- 
tellectual, and  moral  relations  arising  in  his  ever-changino' 
environment.  And  hence  in  the  future,  as  in  the  recent  past, 
the  dominant  fact  in  the  career  of  humanity  is  not  physical 
modification,  but  civilization. 

Here  we  are  brought  by  a  new  route  to  the  verge  of  that 
theory  of  civilization  which  I  have  sought  to  elucidate  in  the 
preceding  chapters.  We  have  touched  upon  a  grand  truth, 
of  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  overrate  the  importance. 
For  we  can  now  admit — not  as  a  concession  to  Mr.  St.  George 
Mivart,  but  as  a  legitimate  result  of  our  own  method  of 
inquiry — that  when  "the  totality  of  man's  being"  is  taken 
into  the  account,  the  difference  between  ape  and  mushroom 
is  less  important  than  the  difference  between  ape  and  man. 
And  without  conceding  aught  to  that  superlative  nonsense 
known  as  the  "  doctrine  of  special  creations,"  we  may  admit, 
with  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  that  the  eleven  cubic  inches  of 
brain-space,  by  which  the  aboriginal  Hindu  surpasses  the 
gorilla,  have  a  higher  value,  for  purposes  of  classification, 
than  the  sixty-eight  cubic  inches  by  which  the  modern 
Englisliman  surpasses  the  Hindu.  We  now  see  what  kind 
of  a  Eubicon  it  was  which  was  crossed  when  those  eleven 
cubic  inches  of  brain  (or  even  when  four  or  five  of  them) 
tad   been   gained.     The   crossing  of  the  Eubicon   was  the 

VOL.  IL  T 


32S  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii. 

point  at  which  natural  selection  began  to  confine  its(,lf  chiefly 
to  variations  in  psychical  manifestation.  The  ape-like  pro- 
genitor of  man,  in  whom  physical  and  psychical  changes  had 
gone  on  pari  2>assu  for  countless  aeons,  until  he  had  reached 
the  grade  of  intelligence  implied  by  the  possession  of  a  brain 
four  or  five  inches  more  capacious  than  that  of  the  gorilla 
had  now,  as  we  may  suppose,  obtained  a  brain  upon  whicli 
could  be  devolved,  to  a  greater  and  greater  extent,  the  task  of 
maintaining  relations  with  the  environment.  Then  began  a 
new  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  evolution  of  life.  Hence- 
forward the  survival  of  the  fittest,  in  man's  immediate  an- 
cestry, was  the  survival  of  the  cerebrums  best  able  to  form 
representative  combinations.  The  agencies  which  had  hitherto 
been  at  work  in  producing  an  organic  form  endowed  with  rare 
physical  capacities,  now  began  steadfastly  to  labour  in  pro- 
ducing a  mind  capable  to  a  greater  and  greater  extent  of 
ideally  resuscitating  and  combining  relations  not  present 
to  the  senses. 

But  immense  as  was  the  step  thus  achieved  in  advance, 
the  progress  from  brute  to  man  was  not  yet  accomplished. 
As  we  have  already  shown,  the  circumstances  which  by  widen- 
ing and  diversifying  experience  have  mainly  contributed  to 
heighten  man's  faculty  of  representativeness,  have  been  for 
the  most  part  circumstances  attendant  upon  man's  sociality, 
or  the  capacity  of  individuals  for  aggregating  into  communities 
of  increasing  extent  and  complexity.  Here  we  become 
involved  in  considerations  relating  to  the  emotions  as  well  as 
to  the  intelligence.  The  capacity  for  sustaining  the  various 
relationships  implied  by  the  existence  of  a  social  aggregate — 
whether  in  the  case  of  a  primeval  family  community  or  of  a 
modern  nation — cannot  be  explained  without  taking  into 
the  account  the  genesis  of  those  moral  feelings  by  the  posses- 
dion  of  which  man  has  come  to  differ  from  the  highest  brutes 
even  more  cOiispicuously  than  l)y  his  purely  intellectual 
Rchievements.      The   task   now   before  us,   therefore,  is  to 


CH.  XXI.]    GENESIS  OF  MAN,  INTELLECTUALLY  323 

explain  the  genesis  of  the  moral  feelings  which  lie  at  the 
bottom  of  sociality  in  the  human  race;  and  with  reference 
to  this  question  I  shall  presently  have  a  suggestion  to  offer, 
which  will  be  found  as  serviceable  as  it  is  interesting  and 
noveL  Let  us  for  the  moment,  however,  consider  the  impli- 
cations of  some  of  the  current  ethical  theories,  and  especially 
let  us  examine  the  scientific  basis  of  what  is  too  crudely 
designated  as  Utilitarianism. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

GENESIS   OF  MAN,  MOBALLT. 

TiiEiiE  are  two  things,  said  Kant,  whicli  fill  me  witli  awe 
because  of  their  sublimity, — the  starry  heavens  above  us, 
and  the  moral  law  within  us.  From  the  modern  point  of 
view  there  is  interest  as  well  as  instruction  to  be  found  in 
the  implied  antithesis.  While  in  the  study  of  the  stellar 
universe  we  contemplate  the  process  of  evolution  on  a  scale 
so  vast  that  reason  and  imagination  are  alike  baffled  in  the 
effort  to  trace  out  its  real  significance,  and  we  are  over- 
powered by  the  sense  of  the  infinity  that  surrounds  us;  on 
the  other  hand,  in  the  study  of  the  moral  sense  we  contem- 
plate the  last  and  noblest  product  of  evolution  which  we 
can  ever  know, — the  attribute  latest  to  be  unfolded  in  the 
development  of  psychical  life,  and  by  the  possession  of  which 
we  have  indeed  become  as  gods,  knowing  the  good  and  the 
3vil.  The  theorems  of  astronomy  and  the  theorems  of  ethics 
present  to  us  the  process  of  evolution  in  its  extremes  of 
extension  and  of  intension  respectively.  For  although  upon 
other  worlds  far  out  in  space  there  may  be  modes  of  exist- 
ence immeasurably  transcending  Humanity,  yet  tliese  must 
remain  unknowable  by  us.  And  while  this  possibility  should 
be  allowed  its  due  weight  in  restraining  us  from  the  vain 
endeavour  to  formulate  the  infinite   and  eternal  Sustainei 


»H.  XXII.1  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MOB  ALLY.  325 

of  the  universe  in  terms  of  our  own  human  nature,  as  if  the 
highest  symbols  intelligible  to  us  were  in  reality  the  highest 
symbols,  nevertheless  it  can  in  no  way  influence  or  modify 
our  science.  To  us  the  development  of  the  noblest  of  human 
attributes  must  ever  remain  the  last  term  in  the  stupendous 
series  of  cosmic  changes,  of  which  the  development  of  plane- 
tary systems  is  the  first  term.  And  our  special  synthesis  of 
the  phenomena  of  cosmic  evolution,  which  began  by  seek- 
ing to  explain  the  genesis  of  the  earth  and  its  companion 
worlds,  will  be  fitly  concluded  when  we  have  offered  a 
theory  of  the  genesis  of  those  psychical  activities  whose 
end  is  to  secure  to  mankind  the  most  perfect  fulness  of 
life  upon  this  earth,  which  is  its  dwelling-place. 

The  great  philosopher  whose  remark  has  suggested  these 
reflections  would  not,  however,  have  been  ready  to  assent  to 
the  interpretation  here  given.  Though  Kant  was  one  of  the 
chief  pioneers  of  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  having  been  the 
first  to  propose  and  to  elaborate  in  detail  the  theory  of  the 
nebular  origin  of  planetary  systems,  yet  the  conception  of  a 
continuous  development  of  life  in  all  its  modes,  physical  and 
psychical,  was  not  sufficiently  advanced,  in  Kant's  day,  to 
be  adopted  into  philosophy.  Hence  in  his  treatment  of  the 
mind,  as  regards  both  intelligence  and  emotion,  Kant  took 
what  may  be  called  a  statical  view  of  the  subject ;  and 
finding  in  the  adult  civilized  mind,  upon  the  study  of  which 
his  systems  of  psychology  and  ethics  were  founded,  a  number 
of  organized  moral  intuitions  and  an  organized  moral  sense, 
which  urges  men  to  seek  the  right  and  shun  the  wrong, 
irrespective  of  utilitarian  considerations  of  pleasure  and  pain, 
he  proceeded  to  deal  with  these  moral  intuitions  and  this 
moral  sense  as  if  they  were  ultimate  facts,  incapable  of 
being  analyzed  into  simpler  emotional  elements.  Now  as 
the  following  exposition  may  look  like  a  defence  of  utili- 
larianism,  it  being  really  my  intention  to  show  that  utili- 
i.ariauism  'u   the  deepest  and  widest   sense  is  the  ethical 


326  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [it.  il 

philosophy  imperatively  required  by  the  facts,  it  is  well  to 
state,  at  the  outset,  that  the  existence  of  a  moral  sense  and 
moral  intuitions  in  civilized  man  is  fully  granted.  It  is 
admitted  that  civilized  man  possesses  a  complex  group  of 
emotions,  leading  him  to  seek  the  right  and  avoid  the 
wrong,  without  any  reference  to  considerations  of  utility ; 
and  I  disagree  entirely  with  those  utilitarian  disciples  of 
Locke,  who  would  apparently"  refer  these  ethical  emotions 
to  the  organization  of  experiences  of  pleasiire  and  pain  in 
the  case  of  each  individual.  So  long  as  the  subject  is 
contemplated  from  a  statical  point  of  view,  so  long  as 
individual  experience  is  studied  without  reference  to  an- 
cestral experience,  the  follower  of  Kant  can  always  hold 
his  ground  against  the  follower  of  Locke,  in  ethics  as  well 
as  in  psychology.  When  the  Kantian  asserts  that  the  in- 
tuitions of  right  and  wrong,  as  well  as  the  intuitions  of 
time  and  space,  are  independent  of  experience,  he  occupies 
a  position  which  is  impregnable,  so  long  as  the  organization 
of  experiences  through  successive  generations  is  left  out  of 
the  discussion.  But  already,  on  two  occasions  of  supreme 
importance,  we  have  found  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution  lead- 
ing us  to  a  common  ground  upon  which  the  disciples  of 
Kant  and  the  disciples  of  Locke  can  dwell  in  peace  together. 
We  have  seen  that  the  experience-test  and  the  incon- 
ceivability-test of  truth  are,  when  deeply  considered,  but 
the  obverse  faces  of  the  same  thing.  We  have  seen  that 
there  is  a  stand-point  from  which  the  experience-theory 
Riud  the  intuition-theory  of  knowledge  may  be  regarded  as 
oiutually  supplementing  each  otlier.  We  shall  presently 
Bee,  in  like  manner,  that  the  so-called  doctrine  of  utili- 
tarianism and  the  doctrine  of  moral  intuitions  are  by  no 
means  so  incompatible  with  one  another  as  may  at  iirst 
appear.  As  soon  as  we  begin  to  study  tlie  subject  dynami. 
cally,  everything  is  shown  in  a  new  light.  Admitting  the 
truth   of   the  Kantian   position,  that   there  exists  in  us  a 


CH.  xxil]  genesis  of  MAN,  MORALLY.  327 

moral  sense  for  analyzing  which  our  individual  experience 
does  not  afford  the  requisite  data,  and  which  must  there- 
fore be  regarded  as  ultimate  for  each  individual,  it  is  never- 
theless open  to  us  to  inquire  into  the  emotional  antecedents 
of  this  organized  moral  sense  as  exhibited  in  ancestral  types 
of  psychical  life.  The  inquiry  will  result  in  the  conviction' 
that  the  moral  sense  is  not  ultimate,  but  derivative,  and  that 
it  ha^  been  built  up  out  of  slowly  organized  experiences  ofl 
pleasures  and  pains. 

But  before  we  can  proceed  directly  upon  the  course  thus 
marked  out,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  determine  what 
are  meant  by  pleasures  and  pains.  What  are  the  common 
characteristics,  on  the  one  hand,  of  the  states  of  conscious- 
ness which  we  call  pleasures,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  of  the 
states  of  consciousness  which  we  call  pains  ?  According  to 
Sir  William  Hamilton,  "  pleasure  is  a.  reflex  of  the  sponta- 
neous and  unimpeded  exertion  of  a  power  of  whose  energy 
we  are  conscious ;  pain  is  a  reflex  of  the  overstrained  or  re- 
pressed exertion  of  such  a  power."  Tliat  this  theory,  which 
is  nearly  identical  with  that  of  Aristotle,  is  inadequate  to 
account  for  all  the  phenomena  of  pleasure  and  pain,  has  been, 
I  think,  conclusively  proved  by  Mr.  INIill.  With  its  complete 
adequacy,  however,  we  need  not  now  concern  ourselves ;  as 
we  shall  presently  see  that  a  different  though  somewhat  allied 
statement  will  much  better  express  the  facts  in  the  case. 
Hamilton's  statement,  however  inadequate,  is  illustrated  by 
a  number  of  truths  which  for  our  present  purpose  are  of 
importance.  A  large  proportion  of  our  painful  states  of 
consciousness  are  attendant  upon  the  inaction,  or  what 
Hamilton  less  accurately  calls  the  "repressed  exertion,"  of 
certain  organic  functions.  According  to  the  character  of  the 
functions  in  question,  these  painful  states  are  known  as 
cravings  or  yearnings.  Inaction  of  the  alimentary  canal, 
and  that  molecular  inaction  due  to  deficiency  of  Avater  in  the 
system,  axe  attended  by  feelings  of  hunger  and  thirst,  whicn 


328  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii, 

vary  from  slight  discomfort  to  intense  agony  according  as  the 
inaction  is  prolonged.  Of  kindred  character  are  the  acquired 
cravings  for  tobacco,  alcohol,  and  other  narcotics.  Inaction 
of  the  muscles  causes  great  discomfort  in  children  who  are 
compelled  to  sit  still,  and  grown  persons  feel  similar  annoy- 
ance when  the  enforced  stillness  is  long  enough  kept  up= 
Prisoners  kept  in  dark  cells  soon  feel  an  intense  craving  for 
light,  which  in  time  becomes  scarcely  less  intolerable  than 
raging  hunger.  A  similar  explanation  suffices  for  the  emo- 
tional yearnings  involved  in  home-sickness,  ennui,  deprivatioD 
of  the  approval  of  our  fellow-creatures,  or  in  separation  fronc 
our  favourite  pursuits.  All  these  painful  states  are  due  to  the 
enforced  inaction  of  certain  feelings,  social  or  cesthetic.  And 
in  similar  wise,  as  Mr.  Spencer  observes,  the  bitter  grief 
attendant  upon  the  death  of  a  friend  results  from  the  ideal 
representation  of  a  future  in  which  certain  groups  of  habitual 
emotions  must  remain  inactive  or  unsatisfied  by  outward 
expression. 

The  objection  may  be  made  that  all  this  is  but  an  elaborate 
way  of  saying  that  certain  pains  result  from  the  deprivation 
of  certain  pleasures.  But  since  such  an  objection,  in  its  very 
Btatemeut,  recognizes  that  certain  kinds  of  unimpeded  acti- 
vity, physical  or  psychical,  are  pleasures,  it  need  not  disturb 
us,  or  lead  us  to  under-estimate  the  value  of  Hamilton's 
suggestion.  Let  us  note  next  that  excessive  action  of  any 
function,  equally  with  deficient  action,  is  attended  by  pain. 
Local  pain  results  from  intensified  sensations  of  heat,  light, 
sound,  or  pressure ;  and  though  it  may  be  in  some  cases  true, 
as  Mr.  Spencer  asserts,  that  sweet  tastes  are  not  rendered 
positively  disagreeable  by  any  degree  of  intensity,^  the  alleged 
fact  seems  quite  contrary  to  my  own  experience,  and  to  that 
af  several  other  persons  whom  I  have  questioned.  Other 
local  pains,  as  in  inflammation  and  sundry  other  forms  oi 
disease,  are  apparently  due  to  increased  molecular  activity  in 
*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psyclwlogy,  voL  L  p.  276. 


CH.  xxii.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  323 

the  parts  affected.  And  the  feelings  of  pain  or  discomfort 
both  local  and  systemic,  attendant  npon  over-exercise,  over- 
eating, or  excessive  use  of  a  narcotic,  are  to  be  similarly 
explained. 

Thus  "we  may  say  that  pleasure,  generally  speaking,  is  "the 
concomitant  of  an  activity  which  is  neither  too  small  nor 
too  great,"  and  we  get  at  the  significance  of  the  Epicurean 
maxim,  fMrjSev  dyav.  But  this  doctrine,  as  already  hinted, 
is  by  no  means  complete.  Tor,  as  Mr.  Mill  and  Mr.  Spencer 
ask,  "What  constitutes  a  medium  activity?  What  deter- 
mines that  lower  limit  of  pleasurable  action  bel  owwhich 
there  is  craving,  and  that  higher  limit  of  pleasurable  action 
above  which  there  is  pain  ? "  And  furthermore,  how  happen 
there  to  be  certain  feelings  (as  among  tastes  and  odours) 
which  are  disagreeable  in  all  degrees  of  intensity,  and  others 
that  are  agreeable  in  all  degrees  of  intensity  1  The  answer, 
as  Mr.  Spencer  shows,  is  to  be  sought  in  the  study  of  the 
past  conditions  under  which  feelings  have  been  evolved. 

If  the  tentacles  of  a  polyp  are  rudely  struck  by  some 
passing  or  approaching  body,  the  whole  polyp  contracts 
violently  in  such  a  manner  as  to  throw  itself  slightly  out  of 
the  way;  but  if  a  fragment  of  assimilable  food,  floating  by, 
happens  to  touch  one  of  the  tentacles  gently,  the  tentacle 
grasps  it  and  draws  it  slowly  down  to  the  polyp's  digestive 
sac.  Now  between  these  contrasted  actions  there  is  no 
such  psychical  difference  as  accompanies  the  similarly  con- 
trasted human  actions  of  taking  food  and  ducking  the  head 
to  avoid  a  blow ;  for  the  polyp's  contractions,  being  simply 
reflex  actions  of  the  lowest  sort,  are  unattended  b}^  states  of 
consciousness,  either  agreeable  or  disagreeable.  Nevertheless 
there  is  one  respect  in  which  tlie  two  cases  perfectly  agree. 
In  both  cases  there  is  a  seeking  of  that  which  is  beneficial 
to  the  organism,  and  a  shunning  of  that  which  is  injurious. 
And  while,  in  the  case  of  the  polyp,  there  is  no  conscious 
pleasure  or  pain,  we  may  fairly  surraise  that,  as  soon  as  anj 


330  COSMIG  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ii. 

animal's  psychical  life  becomes  sufficiently  compLjx  to  be 
attended  by  distinct  states  of  consciousness,  tlie  presence  of 
that  which   is  beneficial  is  accompanied  by  a  pleasurable 
feeling  whicli  leads  to  the  seeking  of  it,  while  the  presence  of 
that  which  is  injurious  is  accompanied  by  a  painful  feeling 
which  leads  to  the  shunning  of  it.     Our  surmise  is  strength- 
ened as  we  reconsider  the  human  actions  lately  enumerated, 
and  observe  that  the  abnormal  activity  of  a  function,  either 
in  deficiency  or  in  excess,  is   injurious,  while  the  normal 
activity  of  a  function  in  balance  with  its  conij)anion  functions 
is  beneficial.    As  Mr.  Spencer  says,  "in  a  mutually  dependent 
set  of  organs  having  a  consensus  of  functions,  the  very  exist- 
ence of  a  special  organ  having  its  special  function,  implies 
that  the  absence  of  its  function  must  cause  disturbance  of 
the  consensus, — implies  too,  that  its  function  may  be  raised 
to  an  excess  which  must  cause  disturbance  of  the  consensus, 
^implies,  therefore,  that  maintenance  of  the  consensus  goes 
along  with  a  medium  degree  of  its  function."     In  accordance 
with   this  view,   we   may  note  that  hunger  and  thirst  are 
feelings  attendant  upon  a  kind  of  functional  inaction  which 
is  harmful,  and  even  fatal  if  prolonged;   that  inaction  or 
excessive  action  of  the  muscles  is  injurious  as  well  as  pain- 
ful ;  that  the  intense  heat  and  cold,  and  the  violent  pressure, 
which  cause  distress,  will  also  cause  more  or  less  injury,  and 
may  cause  death  ;  that  the  discomfort  following  repletion  and 
narcosis  is  the  concomitant  of  a  state  of  things  which,  if 
kept  up,  must  end  in  dyspepsia,  or  other  forms  of  disease, 
entailing  usually  a  permanent  lowering  of  nutrition;   and 
that  the  intense  sounds  and  lights  which  distress  the  ear  and 
eye  also  tend  to  produce  deafness  and  blindness.     And  in 
like  manner,  the  enforced  inaction  of  the  social  and  aesthetic 
feelings,   which   is   attended   by  mental  discomfort,  is  also 
attended  in  the  long  run  by  a  diminution  of  the  fulness  and 
^ompleteness  of  psychical  life,  which  in  extreme  cases  may 
result  in  consumption,  insanity,  or  narcotic  craving. 


»H.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  331 

It  would  seem,  therefore,  that  the  class  of  cases  upon  which 
Hamilton  relied  will  justify  an  interpretation  much  deeper 
than  the  one  which  he  proposed  for  them.  They  will  appa- 
rently justify  us  in  asserting  that  pleasure  is  a  state  of  con- 
sciousness accompanying  modes  of  activity  which  tend  to 
increase  the  fulness  of  life  of  an  organism,  while  pain  is  a 
state  of  consciousness  accompanying  modes  of  activity  which 
tend  to  diminish  the  fulness  of  life.  Before  considering  the 
objections  to  this  doctrine, — which,  though  at  first  siyht 
formidable,  will  disappear  on  further  analysis, — let  us  note, 
with  Mr,  Spencer,  that,  on  the  theory  of  evolution,  "  races  of 
sentient  creatures  could  have  come  into  existence  under  no 
other  conditions."  Omitting  the  cases  which,  in  human 
psychology,  are  complicated  by  the  foresight  of  remote  or 
inconspicuous  consequences,  Mr.  Spencer  observes  that 
Pleasure  is  "a  feeling  which  we  seek  to  bring  into  con- 
sciousness and  retain  there,"  while  Pain  is  "  a  feeling  which 
we  seek  to  get  out  of  consciousness  and  to  keep  out."  Hence 
it  follows  that  "if  the  states  of  consciousness  which  a  creature 
endeavours  to  maintain  are  the  correlatives  of  injurious 
actions,  and  if  the  states  of  consciousness  which  it  endeavours 
to  expel  are  the  correlatives  of  beneficial  actions,  it  must 
quickly  disappear  through  persistence  in  the  injurious  and 
avoidance  of  the  beneficial."  In  other  words,  even  supposing 
\  race  of  animals  could  come  into  existence,  which  should 
habitually  seek  baneful  actions  as  plea;surable,  and  shun 
'aseful  actions  as  painful,  natural  selection  would  immediately 
exterminate  it.  Our  supposition  is  therefore  a  hibernicism : 
under  the  operation  of  natural  selection  no  such  race  could 
3ver  come  into  existence.  Only  those  races  can  exist  whose 
ieelings,  on  the  average,  result  in  actions  which  are  in 
harmony  with  environing  relations.  Accordingly  we  may 
rest  upon  a  still  deeper  and  firmer  basis  our  doctrine  of 
pleasure  and  pain,  and  assert  that  Pleasure  is  a  state  of 
consciousness  accompanying  the  relatively  complete  adjust* 


53J  COSMIG  FRILOSOFHY.  [pt.  ii. 

■^ment  of  inner  to  outer  relations,  while  Pain  is  a  state  oi 
consciousness  attendant  upon  the  discordance  between  innei 
and  outer  relations. 

We  may  now  consider  a  class  of  facts  which  at  first  seem 
inconsistent  with  the   theory,   but  which   in   reality   serve 
further  to  illustrate  it.     Animals  now  and  then  perform  self- 
destructive  actions  under  circumstances  ^^•hich  make  it  diffi- 
cult to   suppose   that   the   performance   is  not  pleasurable. 
Though  the  majority  of  vegetable  poisons  are  disagreeable  to 
the  taste,  yet  this  is  not  always  the  case ;  and  hence  animala 
have  been  known  to  perish  after  a  greedy  meal  upon  some 
noxious  herb.     But  here,  as  in  the  case  of  the  moth  which, 
in  Tennyson's  phrase,  is  "  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire,"  there 
is  a  new  relation  in  the  environment  for  which  there  is  no 
corresponding  adjustment  established  in  the  organism.     The 
cases  are  like  that  of  the   child  who  ignorantly   drinks  a 
sweet  poison,  or  satisfies  its  desire  for  muscular  activity  by 
climbing  out  of  the  window.     The  dynamic  theory  of  life 
does  not  imply  the  pre-existence  of  internal  relations  answer- 
ing to  all  possible  external  relations.     Were  it  so,  life  w^ould 
be   complete  from  the  outset.     For  new  emergencies  there 
have  to  be  new  adjustments.     Now  manifestly  if  the  whole 
race  of  moths  could  be  made  to  live  among  lighted  candles, 
one  of  two  things  must  happen :  either  there  must  be  gene- 
rated a  tendency  to  avoid  the  candles,  or  the  race  must  be 
exterminated.     If  an  animal   migrates   to  a  district  where 
poisonous  herbs  abound,  its  existence  can  be  maintained  only 
on  one  of  two  conditions  :  if  it  be  low  in  intelligence,  a 
dif'.agreeable  taste  must  be  generated,  so  that  the  noxious 
food  will  be  instantly  rejected,  or  the  odour  must  become 
offensive,  so  that  the  taste  will  be  forewarned;   but  if  the 
anima    be   possessed   of  high   intelligence,  like   a   bird  or 
mamma'x,  it  will  be  enough  if  the  dangerous  object  is  identi- 
fied by  smell  or  taste,  or  even  by  vision  or  touch,  while  along 
with  the  recognition  there  occurs  an  ideal  rej)resentation  o/ 


t'H.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY,  333 

danger.  Hence  it  is  not  necessary  to  the  maintenance  of  a 
race  like  mankind  that  all  poisons  should  be  bitter,  or  that 
injurious  actions,  newly  tried,  should  painfully  affect  any  of 
the  senses.  The  work  of  making  the  needful  adjustments  is 
thrown  largely  upon  the  cerebrum,  with  its  power  of  forming 
ideal  sequences  like  those  formerly  experienced,  and  of  direct- 
ing action  so  as  to  anticipate  them.  Here,  indeed,  we  come 
suddenly  upon  one  of  the  conditions  of  human  progressive- 
ness,  as  above  illustrated. 

We  can  now  begin  to  see  why  man  finds  pleasure  in  so 
many  kinds  of  activity  which  are  noxious  to  himself.  In  no 
other  animal  are  the  failures  of  adjustment  between  pleasur- 
able and  painful  states,  and  beneficial  and  hurtful  actions,  so 
numerous  or  so  conspicuous  as  in  man.  Though  in  the 
adjiistments  upon  which  the  maintenance  of  life  immediately 
depends,  the  correspondence  is  of  necessity  unimpaired,  yet 
in  those  less  essential  adjustments  concerned  in  keeping  up 
the  greatest  possible  fulness  of  life,  there  is  frequent  and 
lamentable  imperfection.  Thus, — to  take  one  instance  out 
of  a  hundred, — we  continually  see  pleasurable  states  of  con- 
sciousness associated  with  hurtful  actions  in  the  cases  of 
men  who  ruin  themselves  by  the  use  of  narcotics.  The  fact 
that  men,  who  are  so  much  wiser  than  brutes,  should  often 
persist  in  conduct  unworthy  of  brute  intelligence,  has  long 
formed  the  theme  of  much  sage  but  fruitless  moralizing.  By 
Jalvinistic  theologians  such  phenomena  were  formerly  cited 
in  proof  of  the  theory  that  man  is  morally  the  lowest  of 
creatures,  having  been  rendered  thoroughly  unsound  by  the 
eating  of  the  apple  in  Eden.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
science  offers  a  very  different  explanation.  It  follows  from 
our  inquiry  into  the  causes  of  organic  evolution,'^  that  the 
adjustments  which  tend  to  maintain  the  highest  fulness  of  life 
\wn  be  kept  up  only  by  natural  selection  or  by  direct  equili- 
bration. Now  we  have  already  had  occasion  to  notice  that  in 
1  See  above,  part  iL  chap.  xiL 


334  COSMIC  PBILOSOPET.  [ft.  ii. 

the  human  race,  partly  on  account  of  the  extreme  compl  exity 
of  its  individual  organization,  partly  on  account  of  super- 
added social  conditions,  the  action  of  natural  selection  is  to 
a  great  extent  checked.  I  do  not  allude  to  the  fact  that  the 
supremely  important  human  sympathies,  which  have  grown 
up  in  the  course  of  social  evolution,  compel  us  to  protect  the 
idle  and  intemperate,  so  that,  instead  of  starving,  they  are 
"  enabled  to  multi|)ly  at  the  expense  of  the  capable  and  in- 
dustrious." For  far  deeper  than  this  lies  the  circumstance 
that  "  there  are  so  many  kinds  of  superiorities  which  seve- 
rally enable  men  to  survive,  notwithstanding  accompanying 
inferiorities,  that  natural  selection  cannot  by  itself  rectify 
any  particular  unfitness ;  especially  if,  as  usually  happens, 
there  are  coexisting  unfitnesses  which  all  vary  independently."^ 
In  a  race  of  inferior  animals  a  function  in  excess  is  quickly 
reduced  by  natural  selection,  because,  owing  to  the  universal 
slaughter,  the  highest  completeness  of  life  possible  to  a  given 
grade  of  organization  is  required  for  the  mere  maintenance 
of  life.  But  under  the  conditions  surrounding  human  deve- 
lopment, a  function  in  excess  may  remain  in  excess  provided 
its  undue  exercise  is  not  such  as  is  incompatible  with  life. 
Through  countless  ages,  for  example,  the  feelings  which  in- 
sure the  maintenance  of  the  race  have  been  strengthened  by 
natural  selection,  because  of  their  prime  importance  to  every 
race.  But  under  the  conditions  of  civilized  life,  the  sexual 
passion  has  become  a  function  in  excess,  which  natural  selec- 
tion is  powerless  to  reduce,  because,  although  it  is  probably 
the  source  of  more  crime  and  misery  than  any  other  excessive 
function,  and  therefore  detracts  more  from  complete  individu- 
ation or  the  fulness  of  human  life  than  any  other,  it  is  never- 
theless but  seldom  incompatible  with  the  maintenance  of  life. 
In  all  such  cases,  mankind  has  so  many  other  functions,  be- 
sides the  excessive  ones,  wliich  enable  it  to  subsist  and 
achieve  progress  in  spite  of  them,  that  their  reduction  to  the 

^  Spencer,  op.  cit.  i  284. 


CH.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY,  335 

normal  standard  is  left  for  the  slow  process  of  direct  equili- 
bration. 

The  action  of  direct  equilibration,  in  turn,  is  greatly  com- 
plicated, among  the  progressive  races,  by  the  rapid  and 
extensive  change  of  the  social  environment  from  age  to  age.  A 
new  set  of  readjustments  needs  to  be  made  before  the  old 
ones  are  completed ;  and  the  result  is  that  there  are  always 
a  number  of  functions  somewhat  out  of  balance.  When 
civilization  is  rapidly  progressing,  each  generation  of  men  is 
forced  into  kinds  of  activity  to  which  the  inherited  emotional 
tendencies,  and  in  some  cases  even  the  inherited  physical  con- 
stitutions, are  not  thoroughly  adapted.  Hence  the  number 
and  variety  of  pathological  phenomena,  both  mental  anf^ 
physical,  is  greater  in  civilized  than  in  savage  communities. 
As  might  be  expected,  the  present  century,  which  has  wit- 
nessed a  far  more  extensive  revolution  in  the  modes  of  human 
activity  than  any  previous  age,  exhibits  numerous  instances 
of  these  minor  failures  of  adjustment.  To  take  the  uiost 
conspicuous  example, — the  progress  of  science  and  industry 
during  the  past  three  generations  have  raised  the  average 
standard  of  comfortable  living  so  greatly  and  so  suddenly, 
that  to  attain  this  standard  an  excessive  strain  is  put  upon 
men's  powers.  In  many  respects,  it  is  harder  to  live  to-day 
than  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago.  As  a  general  rule  we  are 
overworked  until  late  in  life,  in  the  mere  effort  to  secure  the 
means  of  maintaining  life.  Not  only  does  this  continual 
overwork  entail  a  serious  disturbance  of  the  normal  equili- 
brium between  pleasures  and  pains  and  the  correlative  benefits 
,tnd  injuries,  since  it  involves  the  undue  exertion  of  certaii; 
faculties  and  the  undue  repression  of  others,  but  there  is 
further  disturbance  due  to  the  specific  character  of  the  o\'er- 
work.  Throughout  a  very  large  and  constantly  increasing 
portic  n  of  the  community,  the  excessive  labour  is  intellectual 
labour;  the  abnormal  strain  comes  upon  the  nervous  system. 
The  task  of  maintaining  the  correspondence  with  environing 


336  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii. 

relations,  which  in  the  course  of  organic  evolution  has  been 
entrusted  more  and  more  largely  to  the  nervous  system,  and 
which  in  the  course  of  social  evolution  has  been  thrown 
more  and  more  upon  the  cerebrum,  has  during  the  past 
hundred  years  been  thrown  upon  the  cerebrum  to  a  formidable 
extent.  The  community,  therefore,  is  suffering  not  simply 
from  overwork,  but  from  excessive  brain-work,  in  the  shape  oi 
inordinate  thinking  and  planning,  and  inordinate  anxiety. 
"  Further,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  many  of  the  industrial 
activities  which  the  struggle  for  existence  has  thrust  on  the 
members  of  modern  societies,  are  in-door  activities, — activi- 
ties not  only  not  responded  to  by  the  feelings  inherited  from 
aboriginal  men,  but  in  direct  conflict  with  those  more 
remotely  inherited  and  deeply  organized  feelings  which 
prompt  a  varied  life  in  the  open  air."  Hence  manifold  dis- 
turbance. "A  sedentary  occupation  pursued  for  years  in  a 
confined  air,  regardless  of  protesting  sensations,  brings  about 
a  degenerate  physical  state  in  which  the  inherited  feelings  are 
greatly  out  of  harmony  with  the  superinduced  requirements 
of  the  body.  Desired  foods,  originally  appropriate,  become 
indigestible.  An  air  pleasure-giving  by  its  freshness  to  those 
in  vigour,  brings  colds  and  rheumatisms.  Amounts  of  exer- 
tion and  excitement  naturally  healthful  and  gratifying  are 
found  injurious.  All  which  evils,  due  though  they  are  to  con- 
tinued disregard  of  the  guidance  of  inherited  feelings,  come 
eventually  to  be  mistaken  for  proofs  that  the  guidance  of  in- 
herited feelings  is  worthless."  ^ 

Further  to  pursue  this  interesting  subject  would  be  to  con- 
vert a  set  of  illustrations,  already  too  elaborately  stated,  into 
an  unmanageable  digression.  Summing  up  the  result's  nov 
obtained,  we  see  that  natural  selection,  acting  less  rigidly 
nnder  the  limitations  imposed  by  social  evolution,  fails  to 

*  Spencer,  op.  cit.  i.  282,  283.  Light  is  thus  thrown  upon  the  misuse  of 
alcohol  and  tobacco, — one  of  the  most  conspicuous  of  the  cases  ux  which 
laeu's  physical  appetites  prompt  to  actions  that  are  iujurioiia. 


CH.xxn.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  2Bn 

reduce  functions  that  are  in  excess,  and  leaves  them  to  be 
reduced  by  direct  equilibration.  The  process  is  accordingly- 
slow,  since  direct  adaptation  to  a  rapidly  changing  environ- 
ment is  attended  by  the  appearance  of  minor  unfitnesses 
which  further  complicate  the  emotional  disturbance,  and 
disarrange  the  normal  relations  between  incentives  and 
actions.  We  need  not,  therefore,  be  surprised  at  the  fact 
that  men  often  find  pleasure  in  detrimental  activities ;  nor 
need  we  indorse  the  Puritanic  or  ascetic  theory,  suggested 
partly  by  the  contemplation  of  this  fact,  "that  painful  actions 
are  beneficial  and  pleasurable  actions  detrimental."  Tor  if 
this  were  to  any  considerable  extent  the  case,  sentient  life 
would  inevitably  disappear  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  The 
cases  which  we  have  cited  belong  to  ethical  pathology.  And 
just  as  pathologic  phenomena  do  not  invalidate  the  laws  of 
physiology,  just  as  the  dynamic  theory  of  life  is  not  invali- 
dated by  the  fact  that  mal- adjustments  are  continually  met 
with,  so  neither  do  cases  of  moral  disease  invalidate  the 
corollary  which  inevitably  follows  from  the  Doctrine  of 
Evolution,  "  that  pleasures  are  the  incentives  to  life-support- 
ing acts,  and  pains  the  deterrents  from  life-destroying  acts." 

We  are  now  prepared  to  deal  with  the  phenomena  of  Eight 
and  Wrong,  and  to  notice  how  they  become  distinguished 
from  the  phenomena  of  Pleasure  and  Pain.  Though  the 
foregoing  discussion  forms  the  basis  for  a  general  doctrine  of 
morality,  it  is  nevertheless  an  inadequate  basis,  until  properly 
supplemented.  The  existence  of  a  moral  sense  has  purposely 
been  as  far  as  possible  unrecognized ;  for  I  believe  that  in 
ijealing  with  these  complex  subjects,  little  can  be  accom- 
t,lished,  save  on  the  plan  of  separately  cornering  the  various 
tlements  in  the  problem,  and  flooring  them  one  by  one.  Any 
philosophy  of  ethics,  therefore,  which  might  be  founded  upon 
the  preceding  analysis,  could  be  nothing  more  than  a  theory 
of  Hedonism,  recognizing  no  other  incentive  to  proper  actios 
than  the  pleasing  of  one's  self.     By  one  of  the  innumerable 

VOL.  II.  Z 


338  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  ii. 

tricks  wliich  the  misuse  of  current  wor»!s  plays  with  the 
understanding,  the  so-called  utilitarian  theory  has  been,  and 
Btill  is,  not  unfrequently  identified  with  this  kind  of  hedo- 
nistic philosophy,  which  is  in  truth  its  very  antipodes.  The 
error  is  much  like  that  involved  in  the  accusation  of  fatalism, 
commonly  hurled  at  those  who  maintain  the  obvious  and 
harmless  assertion  tliat  moral  actions  conform  to  law.  T5iit 
the  difference,  comprising  the  entire  difference  between  the 
noblest  self-sacrifice  and  the  meanest  self-fondling,  is  as 
follows :  In  our  theory  of  pleasure  and  pain,  which  if  taken 
as  ultimate  would  be  hedonism,  the  well-being  of  the  com- 
munity has  been  as  far  as  possible  omitted  from  the  account. 
Wherever  I  have  introduced  references  to  social  phenomena, 
I  have  considered  them  only  in  their  effects  upon  the  fulness 
of  life  of  the  individual.  In  dealing  with  the  incentives  to 
action  in  a  race  of  brute  animals,  the  foregoing  considerations 
would  be  sufficient.  But  in  the  so-called  utilitarian  theory 
as  it  is  now  to  be  expounded,  the  well-being  of  the  com- 
munity, even  when  incompatible  with  that  of  the  individual, 
is  the  all-important  consideration.  While  the  actions  deemed 
pleasurable  are  those  which  conduce  to  the  fulness  of  life  of  the 
Individual,  the  actions  deemed  right  are  those  which  conduce 
to  the  fulness  of  life  of  the  Community.  And  while  the  actions 
deemed  painful  are  those  which  detract  from  the  fulness  of  life 
of  the  Individual,  the  actions  deemed  wrong  are  those  which 
detract  from  the  fulness  of  life  of  the  Community.  According 
jO  utilitarianism,  therefore,  as  here  expounded,  the  conduct 
approved  as  moral  is  the  disinterested  service  of  the  commu- 
nity, and  the  conduct  stigmatized  as  immoral  is  the  selfish 
preference  of  individual  interests  to  those  of  the  community. 
And  bearirg  in  mind  that  the  community,  which  primevally 
comprised  only  the  little  tribe,  has  by  long-continued  social 
.ntegration  come  to  comprise  the  entire  human  race,  we  have 
the  ultimate  theorem  of  the  utilitarian  philosophy,  as  properly 
understood,  that  actions  morally  right  are  those  which  arc 


CH.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  339 

beneficial  to  Humanity,  while  actions  morally  wrong  are  tbose 
which  are  detrimental  to  Humanity. 

Are  we  to  maintain,  then,  that  when  we  approve  of  certain 
actions,  we  do  so  because  we  consciously  and  deliberately 
reason  out,  in  each  particular  case,  the  conclusion  that  these 
actions  are  beneficial  to  mankind  ?  By  no  means.  Not  only 
is  it  that  the  highest  science  cannot  always  enable  us  to  sa}' 
surely  of  a  given  action  that  it  is  useful  to  mankind,  but  it  is 
also  that  we  do  not  stop  to  apply  science  to  the  matter  at 
alL  We  approve  of  certain  actions  and  disapprove  of  certain 
actions  quite  instinctively.  We  shrink  from  stealing  or 
lying  as  we  shrink  from  burning  our  fingers ;  and  we  no 
more  stop  to  frame  the  theorem  that  stealing  and  lying, 
if  universally  practised,  must  entail  social  dissolution  and 
a  reversion  to  primeval  barbarism,  than  we  stop  to  frame  the 
theorem  that  frequent  burning  of  the  fingers  must  entail 
an  incapacity  for  efficient  manual  operations.  In  short, 
there  is  in  our  psychical  structure  a  moral  sense  which 
is  as  quickly  and  directly  hurt  by  wrong-doing  or  the  idea 
of  wi'ong-doing  as  our  tactile  sense  is  hurt  by  stinging. 

Shall  we,  then,  maintain,  as  a  corollary  from  the  Doctrine 
of  Evolution,  that  our  moral  sense  is  due  to  the  organic 
registration,  through  countless  ages,  of  deliberate  inferences 
that  some  actions  benefit  Humanity,  while  others  injure 
it  ?  Shall  we  say  that  the  primeval  savage  began  by  reason- 
ing his  way  to  the  conclusion  that  if  treachery  were  to 
be  generally  allowed,  within  the  limits  of  the  tribe,  then 
the  tribe  must  succumb  in  the  struggle  for  existence  to  other 
tribes  in  which  treachery  was  forbidden;  and  that,  by  a 
gradual  organization  of  such  inductions  from  experience,  our 
moral  sense  has  slowly  arisen?  This  position  is  no  more 
tenable  than  the  other.  Mr.  Richard  Hutton  and  Mr.  St. 
George  ]\Iivart  would  seem  tc  have  attributed  to  Mr.  Spencer 
Bome  such  doctrine.  But  Mr.  Spencer  is  too  profound  a 
Uiinker  to  ignore  so  completely  the  conditions  under  which 

z  2 


S40  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  il 

permanent  emotional  states  are  generated.  Our  moral  sense 
has  arisen  in  no  such  way.  But  to  understand  the  way 
in  which  it  has  arisen,  we  must  recur  to  our  fundamental 
problem,  and  seek  for  the  conditions  which  first  enabled 
Bocial  evolution,  as  distinguished  from  organic  evolution,  to 
start  upon  its  career. 

It  is  now  time  to  propose  an  answer  to  the  question, 
already  twice  suggested  and  partly  answered,  How  did  social 
evolution  originate  ?  Starting  from  the  researches  of  Six 
Henry  Maine,  which  are  supported  by  those  of  Messrs. 
Tylor,  M'Lennan,  and  Lubbock,  we  have  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  originated  when  families,  temporarily  organized 
among  all  the  higher  gregarious  mammals,  became  in  the 
case  of  the  highest  mammal  permanently  organized.  Start- 
ing from  the  deductions  of  ]\Ir.  Wallace,  we  have  seen  reasoii 
for  believing  that  civilization  originated  when  in  the  highest 
mammal  variations  in  intelligence  became  so  much  more  im- 
portant than  variations  in  physical  structure  that  they  began 
to  be  seized  upon  by  natural  selection  to  the  relative  exclu- 
sion of  the  latter.  In  the  permanent  family  we  have  the 
germ  of  society.  In  the  response  to  outer  relations  by 
ps}'chical  changes,  which  almost  completely  subordinate 
physical  changes,  we  have  the  germ  of  civilization.  Let  us 
now  take  a  step  in  advance  of  previous  speculation,^  and 
see  what  can  be  done  by  combining  these  two  theorems,  so 
that  the  permanent  organization  of  families  and  the  complex 
intelligence  of  the  highest  mammal  will  appear  in  their 
causal  relations  to  each  other. 

Many  mammals  are  gregarious,  and  gregariousness  implies 

*  The  latest  writer  upon  these  su^ijeets  is  inclined  to  give  up  the  problem 
■s  insoluble.  "  I  at  least  find  it  difficult  to  conceive  of  men,  at  all  like  tbi 
present  men,  unless  existing  in  something  like  families,  that  is,  in  groups 
avowedly  connected,  at  least  ou  the  mother's  side,  and  probably  always  wicn 
a  vestige  of  connection,  more  or  les-;,  ou  the  father's  side,  and  unless  these 
groups  were,  like  many  animals,  gregarious,  under  a  leader  more  or  less  fixed 
\t  is  almost  beyond  imagination  how  man,  as  we  know  man,  could  by  any 
sort  of  process  have  gained  this  step  iu  ciyilii-'atioa." — Ba^chot,  I'hijsici  arJi 
Politics,  p.  136. 


OH.  X3II.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  841 

incipient  power  of  combination  and  of  mutual  protection. 
But  gregariousness  differs  from  sociality  by  the  absence  of 
definitive  family  relationships,  except  during  the  brief  and 
intermittent  periods  in  which  there  are  helpless  offspring  to 
be  protected.  Now  it  might  be  maintained  that  the  com* 
plex  intelligence  of  the  highest  mammal  led  him  vaguely 
to  recognize  the  advantage  of  associating  in  more  and  mow* 
permanent  groups  for  the  sake  of  mutual  protection.  Erom 
this  point  of  view  Mr.  Darwin  argues  that  men  were  ori- 
ginally a  race  of  weak  and  mild  creatures  like  chimpan- 
zees, and  not  a  race  of  strong  and  ferocious  creatures  like 
gorillas,  and  were  accordingly  forced  to  combine  because 
unable  to  defend  themselves  singly.  It  is  undeniable  that 
man  is,  relatively  to  his  size,  a  wealc  animal ;  and  there  is 
much  value  in  Mr.  Darwin's  suggestion  in  so  far  as  it  goes 
to  explain  the  origin  of  gregariousness  among  those  primates 
"who  were  the  ancestors  of  man.  Nevertheless,  it  can  hardly 
be  said  to  explain  Sociality  as  distinguished  from  Gregari- 
ousness. It  may  also  be  argued  that  the  superior  sagacity 
even  of  the  lowest  savage  makes  him  quite  a  formidable 
antagonist  to  animals  much  more  powerful  than  himself. 
Besides,  the  study  of  savage  life  brings  out  results  at  vari- 
ance with  the  notion  of  man's  primitive  gentleness.  A 
strong  case  might  be  made  in  support  of  the  statement  that 
uncivilized  man  is  an  extremely  ferocious  animal,  and  that 
among  savage  races,  which  certainly  differ  very  notably  in 
natural  ferocity  of  disposition,  the  most  ferocious  tribes  are 
often  the  most  likely  to  become  dominant  and  assist  social 
integration  by  subduing  other  tribes.  The  earliest  annals 
of  the  highest  of  human  races,  the  Aryan,  certainly  bear 
witness  to  extreme  ferocity,  checked  and  determined  in  its 
direction  by  a  moral  sense  further  developed  than  that  of 
Bavages.  While  recognizing,  therefore,  the  value  of  Mr. 
Darwin's  suggestion,  so  far  as  it  goes,  I  believe  that  the 
true  explanation  lies  much  further  beneath  the  surface. 


34S  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHT.  \n.  u. 

It  ■will  l)e  remembered  that,  in  treating  of  the  parallel 
evolution  of  the  mind  and  the  nervous  system/  it  was  shown 
that  the  increase  of  intelligence  in  complexity  and  speciality 
involves  a  lengthening  of  the  period  during  which  the  ner- 
vous connections  involved  in  ordinary  adjustments  are  be- 
coming organized.  Even  if  the  physical  interpretation  there 
given  should  turn  out  to  be  inadequate,  the  fact  remains  un- 
deniable, that  while  the  nervous  connections  accompanying 
a  simple  intelligence  are  already  organized  at  birth,  the  ner- 
vous connections  accompanying  a  complex  intelligence  are 
chiefly  organized  after  birth.  Thus  there  arise  the  pheno- 
mena of  infancy,  which  are  non-existent  among  those  ani- 
mals whose  psychical  actions  are  purely  reflex  and  instinc- 
tive. Infancy,  psychologically  considered,  is  the  period  during 
which  the  nerve-connections  and  correlative  ideal  associations 
necessary  for  self-maintenance  are  becoming  permanently 
established.  Now  this  period,  which  only  begins  to  exist 
when  the  intelligence  is  considerably  complex,  becomes  longer 
and  longer  as  the  intelligence  increases  in  complexity.  In 
the  human  race  it  is  much  longer  than  in  any  other  race 
of  mammals,  and  it  is  much  longer  in  the  civilized  man 
than  in  the  savage.^  Indeed  among  the  educated  classes  of 
civilized  society,  its  average  duration  may  be  said  to  be 
rather  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  since  during  all  this 
time  those  who  are  to  live  by  brain-work  are  simply  acquir- 
ing the  capacity  to  do  so,  and  are  usually  supported  upon 
*he  products  of  parental  labour. 

It  need  not  be  said  that,  on  the  general  theory  of  evolu- 
tion, the  passage  from  the  short  infancy  of  other  primates 
to  the  relatively  long  infancy  witnessed  among  the  lowest 
contemporary  savages,  cannot  have  been  a  sudden  one.*     But 

^  See  above,  part  iL  chap,  xvi 

*  Possibly  there  may  be  a  kindred  implication  in  the  fact  that  ■women  attain 
maturity  earlier  than  men. 

3  In  this  connection  it  is  interesting  to  observe  that  the  phenomena  o( 
infancj  seem  to  be  decidedly  more  marked  in  the  anthropoid  apes  than  iu 
other  non-humaa  primates.   Ai  the  age  of  one  month  the  orang  outang  hegini 


«H.  xxu.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MOBaLLY.  343 

a  special  reason  may  "be  assigned  why  Nature,  Mliich  never 
makes  long  jumps,  must  have  been  incapable  of  making  this 
particular  jump.  Throughout  the  animal  kingdom  the  period 
of  infancy  is  correlated  with  feelings  of  parental  affection. 
sometimes  confined  to  the  mother,  but  often  shared  ty  the 
father,  as  in  the  case  of  animals  which  mate.  Where,  aa 
among  the  lower  animals,  there  is  no  infancy,  there  is  no 
parental  affection.  Where  the  infancy  is  very  short,  the 
parental  feeling,  though  intense  while  it  lasts,  presently  dis- 
appears, and  the  offspring  cease  to  be  distinguished  from 
strangers  of  the  same  species.  And  in  general  the  duration 
of  the  feelings  which  insure  the  protection  of  the  offspring 
is  determined  by  the  duration  of  the  infancy.  The  agency 
of  natural  selection  in  maintaining  this  balance  is  too  obvi- 
ous to  need  illustration.  Hence,  if  long  infancies  could  have 
suddenly  come  into  existence  among  a  primitive  race  of 
ape-like  men,  the  race  would  have  quickly  perished  from 
inadequate  persistence  of  the  parental  affections.  The  pro- 
longation must  therefore  have  been  gradual,  and  the  same 
increase  of  intelligence  to  which  it  was  due  must  also  have 
prolonged  the  correlative  parental  feelings,  by  associating 
them  more  and  more  with  anticipations  and  memories.  The 
concluding  phases  of  this  long  change  may  be  witnessed 
in  the  course  of  civilization.  Our  parental  affections  now 
endure  through  life  ;  and  while  their  fundamental  instinct 
is  perhaps  no  stronger  than  in  savages,  they  are,  neverthe- 
less, far  more  effectively  powerful,  owing  to  our  far  greater 
power  of  remembering  the  past  and  anticipating  the  future. 

I  believe  we  have  now  reached  a  very  thorough  and  satis- 
factory explanation  of  the  change  from  Gregariousness  to 


to  learn  to  walk,  holding  on  to  convenient  objects  of  support,  like  a  human 
•nfant.  Up  to  tliis  tiine  it  lies  on  its  back,  tossing  about  and  examining  its 
hands  and  leet.  A  monkey  at  the  same  age  has  reached  maturity,  so  far  aa 
locomotion  and  prehension  are  concerned.  See  Mr.  Wallace's  interesting  ex- 
perience with  an  injant  orang-outang  in  his  Malay  Archipelago,  vol.  i. 
pp.  68—71. 


844  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  \n.  lu 

Sociality.  Bear  in  mind  that  I  am  not  indulging  in  pure 
hypothesis.  The  prolongation  of  infancy  accompanying  the 
development  of  intelligence,  and  the  correlative  extension 
of  parental  feelings,  are  facts  established  by  observation 
wherever  observation  is  possible.  And  to  maintain  that  ':he 
correlation  of  these  phenomena  was  kept  up  during  an  epoch 
which  is  hidden  from  observation,  and  can  only  be  known  by 
inference,  is  to  make  a  genuine  induction,  involving  no  other 
assumption  than  that  the  operations  of  nature  are  uniform. 
To  him  who  is  stUl  capable  of  believing  that  the  human  race 
was  created  by  miracle  in  a  single  day,  with  all  its  attributes, 
physical  and  psychical,  compounded  and  proportioned  just  as 
they  now  are,  the  present  inquiry  is,  of  course,  devoid  of 
sisnificance.  But  for  the  evolutionist  there  would  seem  to 
be  no  alternative  but  to  accept,  when  once  propounded,  the 
present  series  of  inferences. 

For  the  process  here  described,  when  long  enough  con- 
tinued, must  inevitably  differentiate  and  integrate  a  herd  or 
troop  of  gregarious  ape-like  men  into  a  number  of  small 
family  communities  such  as  are  now  found  among  the  lowest 
savages.  The  prolonged  helplessness  of  the  offspring  must 
keep  the  parents  together  for  longer  and  longer  periods  in 
successive  epochs ;  and  when  at  last  the  association  is  so  long 
kept  up  that  the  older  children  are  growing  mature  while  the 
younger  ones  still  need  protection,  the  family  relations  begin 
to  become  permanent.  The  parents  have  lived  so  long  in 
company,  that  to  seek  new  companionships  involves  some 
disturbance  of  engrained  habits ;  and  meanwhile  the  older 
sons  are  more  likely  to  continue  their  original  association 
with  each  other  than  to  establish  associations  with  strangers, 
fiince  they  have  common  objects  to  achieve,  and  common 
enmities,  bequeathed  and  acquired,  with  neighbouring  fami- 
lies. As  the  parent  dies,  the  headship  of  the  family  thug 
established  devolves  upon  the  oldest,  or  bravest,  or  most 
sagacious  male  remaining.     Thus  the  little  group  gradually 


CH.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  345 

becomes  a  clan,  the  members  of  which  are  united  by  ties  con- 
siderably stronger  than  those  which  ally  them  to  members  of 
adjacent  clans,  with  whom  they  may  indeed  combine  to  resist 
the  aggressions  of  yet  further  outlying  clans,  or  of  formidable 
beasts,  but  towards  whom  their  feelings  are  usually  those  of 
hostile  rivalry.  It  remains  to  add,  that  the  family  groups 
thus  constituted  differ  widely  in  many  respects  from  modern 
families,  and  do  not  afford  the  materials  for  an  idyllic  picture 
of  primeval  life.  Though  always  ready  to  combine  against  the 
attack  of  a  neighbouring  clan,  the  members  of  the  group  are 
by  no  means  indisposed  to  fight  among  themselves.  The 
sociality  is  but  nascent:  infants  are  drowned,  wives  are 
beaten  to  death,  and  there  are  deadly  quarrels  between 
brothers.  So  in  modern  families  evanescent  barbarism  shows 
itself  in  internal  quarrels,  while  nevertheless  injury  offered 
from  without  is  resented  in  common.  A  more  conspicuous 
difference  is  the  absence  of  monogamy  in  the  primitive  clan. 
It  has  been,  I  think,  demonstrated, — and  for  the  evidence  in 
detail  I  would  refer  to  Sir  John  Lubbock's  excellent  treatise 
on  the  "  Origin  of  Civilization,"  and  to  the  learned  works  of 
M'Lennan  and  Tylor, — that  in  the  primitive  clan  all  the 
women  are  the  wives  of  all  the  men.  Traces  of  this  state  of 
things,  which  some  of  our  half-educated  "  reformers  "  would 
fain  restore,  are  found  all  over  the  world,  both  in  modern 
savage  communities  and  in  traditional  observances  preserved 
by  communities  anciently  civilized.  There  was  also,  as  Sir 
Henry  Maine  has  proved,  entire  community  of  lands  and 
goods,  and  the  individual  possessed  no  personal  rights  as 
against  tne  interests  of  the  clan.  And  let  us  note,  in  conclu- 
sion, that  this  state  of  things,  while  chiefly  brought  about  by 
the  process  of  direct  equilibration  above  described,  is  just 
that  which  natural  selection  must  assist  and  maintain  so 
long  as  the  incipient  community  is  small  and  encompassed  by 
dangers. 
Thus  we  cross  the  cha«m  wiiich  divides  animality  from  hu- 


346  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [rr.  ii. 

manity,  gregariousness  from  sociality,  hedonism  from  morality, 
the  sense  of  pleasure  and  pain  from  the  sense  of  right  and 
wrong.  For  note  that  by  the  time  integration  has  resulted  in 
the  establishment  of  a  permanent  family  group  with  definite 
relationships  between  the  members,  the  incentives  t)  action 
in  each  member  of  the  group  have  become  quite  different 
from  what  they  were  in  a  state  of  mere  gregariousness. 
Sympathy,  or  the  power  of  ideally  reproducing  in  one's  self 
the  pleasures  and  pains  of  another  person,  is  manifested  in 
a  rudimentary  form  by  all  gregarious  animals  of  moderate 
intelligence.  Not  unfrequently,  as  Mr.  Darwin  shows,  a  baboon 
has  been  known  to  risk  his  life  to  save  that  of  a  comrade  ; 
and  the  higher  apes  habitually  take  under  their  care  young 
orphans  of  their  own  species.  It  is  evident  that  this  power 
of  sympathy  must  be  strengthened  and  further  developed 
when  a  number  of  individuals  are  brought  into  closer  and 
more  enduring  relationships,  even  though  these  come  far 
short  of  what,  from  our  modern  ethical  standard,  would  be 
termed  loving.  Affection  in  the  savage  clan  is  but  partially 
preventive  of  fiendish  cruelty;  yet  there  is  an  ability  in  the 
members  to  understand  each  other's  feelings,  and  there  is  a 
desire  for  the  approbation  of  fellow-clansmen.  Kinship  in 
blood,  as  well  as  community  of  pursuits  and  interests,  pro- 
motes these  feelings.  Even  to-day  we  can  usually  understand 
the  mental  habits,  desires,  and  repugnances  of  our  own 
immediate  kindred  better  than  we  can  understand  those  of 
other  people  unrelated  to  us,  even  though  circumstances  may 
now  and  then  have  led  us  to  prefer  the  society  of  the  latter. 
We  can  more  readily  admire  their  excellences  and  condone 
their  faults,  for  their  faults  and  excellences  are  likely  to  be  in 
a  measure  our  own. 

Given  this  rudimentary  capacity  of  sympathy,  we  can  see 
how  family  integration  must  alter  and  complicate  the  emo- 
tional incentives  to  action.  While  the  individual  may  stil] 
exercise  his  brute-like  predatory  instincts  upon  strangers  and 


SH.  xxir.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  S47 

lower  animals,  and  will,  indeed,  be  more  highly  approved  the 
more  he  does  so,  on  the  otlier  hand  there  is  a  curb  upon  hia 
exercise  of  them  within  the  limits  of  tlie  clan.  There  is  a 
nascent  public  opinion  which  lauds  actions  beneficial  to  the 
clan,  and  frowns  upon  actions  detrimental  to  it ;  though  ioi 
this  it  is  not  necessary  that  there  should  be  a  generalization 
of  the  effects  of  certain  actions,  any  more  than  a  generaliza- 
tion of  the  effects  of  hunger  is  needed  to  insure  th^  indi- 
vidual's approval  of  eating.  The  mere  present  sense  of 
collective  pleasure  or  pain  is  enough  to  organize  the  complex 
feeling.  For  example,  when  a  marauding  expedition  upon  a 
neighbouring  clan  is  defeated  by  the  cowardice  or  treachery 
of  one  of  tlie  party,  the  offender  is  perhaps  beaten,  kicked,  or 
killed.  The  present  sense  of  collective  pain  immediately 
prompts  the  actions  which  tend  to  repress  the  cowardice  or 
treachery.  On  the  other  hand,  the  pleasurable  states  which 
result  in  all  the  members  of  the  clan,  in  common,  after  an 
exhibition  of  successful  bravery,  immediately  generate  ap- 
proval of  the  man  who  is  brave,  along  with  the  desire  to 
imitate  him.  In  short, — to  quote  Mr.  Spencer, — oae  of  the 
things  that  come  to  be  strongly  associated  in  the  mind  of 
the  young  savnge,  with  marks  of  approval,  "which  are 
symbolical  of  pleasures  in  general,  is  courage;  and  one  of 
the  things  that  comes  to  be  associated  in  his  mind  with 
frowns  and  other  marks  of  enmity,  which  form  his  symbol  of 
unhappiness,  is  cowardice.  These  feelings  are  not  formed  in 
him  because  he  has  reasoned  his  way  to  the  truth  that  courage 
is  useful  to  his  tribe,  and  by  implication  to  himself,  or  to  the 
truth  that  cowardice  is  a  cause  of  evil.  In  adult  life  he 
may,  perliaps,  see  this ;  but  he  certainly  does  not  see  it  at 
the  time  when  bravery  is  thus  associated  in  his  conscioue- 
ne.ss  with  all  that  is  good,  and  cowardice  with  all  that  is 
bad.  Similarly  there  are  produced  in  him  feelings  of  inclina- 
tion or  repugnance  towards  other  lines  of  conduct  that  have 
become  established  or  interdicted,  because  they  ai'e  beneficial 


S48  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHT,  [w.  ii. 

or  injurious  to  the  tribe ;  though  neither  the  young  nor  the 
adults  know  why  they  have  become  established  or  interdicted. 
Instance  the  praiseworthiness  of  wife-stealing  and  the  vicious- 
ness  of  marrying  within  the  tribe."  ^  In  these  ways  the 
establishment  of  permanent  family  relationships  generates 
new  incentives  to  action,  unknown  in  the  previous  epoch  of 
mere  gregariousness,  which  must  often,  and  in  some  instances 
habitually,  overrule  the  mere  animal  incentives  comprised  in 
personal  pleasures  and  pains.  The  good  of  the  individual 
must  begin  to  yield  to  the  good  of  the  community. 

Next  in  order  comes  the  genesis  of  the  feelings  of  regret 
and  remorse,  which  are  the  fundamental  ingredients  of  con- 
science. This  part  of  the  subject  has  been  ably  treated  by 
Mr.  Darwin,  whose  chapter  on  the  Moral  Sense  is  one  of  the 
most  profound  and  suggestive  chapters  in  his  recent  work  on 
the  "  Descent  of  Man."  Mr.  Darwin  points  to  the  important 
fact,  that,  while  the  incentives  to  actions  beneficial  to  the 
community  are  always  steadily  in  operation,  on  the  other 
hand  the  purely  selfish  impulses,  although  frequently  strong 
enough  to  acquire  temporary  mastery  over  the  others,  are 
nevertheless  accompanied  by  pleasures  that  are  brief  in  dura- 
tion and  leave  behind  memories  of  comparatively  slight 
vividness.  Now,  when  intelligence  has  progressed  to  a  point 
where  there  is  some  definite  memory  of  particular  past 
actions,  the  workings  of  the  mind,  with  reference  to  conduct, 
begin  to  assume  a  more  strictly  moral  character.  Though  at 
the  moment  of  action  a  man  may  yield  to  the  desire  of 
gratifying  hunger,  or  revenge,  or  cupidity,  at  the  cost  of  vio- 
lating the  rules  enforced  by  social  sanctions,  yet  afterwards, 
when  "  past  and  weaker  impressions  are  contrasted  with  the 
tver-enduring  social  instincts,  retribution  will  surely  come, 
Man  will  then  feel  dissatisfied  with  himself,  and  will  resolve. 
with  more  or  less  force,  to  act  differently  for  the  future.  This 
is  conscience ;  for  conscience  looks  backward  and  judges  past 
*  Spencer,  Hecent  JJiscusaions,  p.  23. 


CH,  xxii.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  849 

actions,  inducing  that  kind  of  dissatisfaction  which,  if  weak, 
we  call  regret,  and,  if  severe,  remorse."  ^ 

All  these  varieties  of  incentive  are  next  reinforced  by 
incentives  of  a  mysterious  and  supernatural  character.  When 
intelligence  has  progressed  to  the  point  where  some  curiosity 
is  felt  concerning  the  causes  of  phenomena, — a  point  barelv 
reached  by  the  lowest  contemporary  savages, — mythologies 
begin  to  be  framed.  A  mjthology  is  a  rudimentary  cosmic 
philosophy  ;  and  let  nie  note,  in  passing,  that  an  uncivilized 
race  must  have  attained  considerable  latent  philosophic 
capacity  before  it  can  construct  a  rich  mythology, — instance 
the  luxuriant  folk-lore  of  Greece  as  contrasted  with  the  scanty 
mythology  of  savages.  Now,  the  earliest  kind  of  philosophy 
is  fetishism,  by  which  natural  phenomena  are  attributed  to 
the  volitions  of  countless  supernatural  agencies.  What  are 
these  agencies  ?  Eecent  researches  have  elicited  the  fact  that 
they  are  supposed  to  be  the  ghosts  of  the  dead  ancestors  of 
the  tribe.  The  dead  chief,  who  appears  to  the  savage  in 
dreams,  is  supposed  to  rule  the  winds  and  floods,  and  to  visit 
with  his  wrath  those  who  violate  the  rules  of  action  estab- 
lished in  the  tribe.^  When  one  of  Mr.  Darwin's  companions, 
in  Tierra  del  Fuego,  shot  some  birds  to  preserve  as  specimens, 
a  Fuegian  present  exclaimed,  "0  Mr,  Bynoe,  rain  much, 
much  wind,  blow  much  !"  thus  indicating  his  belief  that  the 
wasting  of  food,  condemned  by  tribal  rules,  would  be  visited 
with  condign  punishment  by  the  tutelar  deities  of  the  tribe. 
"  This  transfigured  form  of  restraint,"  says  Mr.  Spencer, 
"  differing  at  first  but  little  from  the  original  form,  is  capable 
(Of  immense  development."  As  the  fetishistic  agencies  are 
generalized  into  the  deities  of  polytheism,  and  these  in  time 
are  summed  up  in  a  single  anthropomorphic  deity,  there 
slowly  grows  up  the  theory  of  a  hell  in  which  actions  con- 
demned by  the  community  will  be  punished.     The  complex 

*  Darwiii,  Desceni  of  Man,  vol.  i.  p.  87. 

•  See  Myths  znd  Myth-Makers,  pp.  75,  237. 


9S0  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [tt.  n 

conceptions  of  good  and  evil  are  thus  so  widely  differentiated 
from  the  simpler  conceptions  of  pleasure  and  pain,  that  the 
traces  of  the  original  kinship  are  obscured.  This  kind  of 
restraint  has  not  ceased  to  operate  upon  numbers  of  civilized 
men  at  the  present  day ;  and  theologians  tell  ns  that,  if  it 
were  removed,  there  would  ensue  a  moral  retrogression.  Re 
doubtless  there  would,  if  it  could  be  removed  prematurely. 

Eeturning  to  our  savage,  it  must  be  observed  that  these 
combined  agencies  have  enforced  upon  him  an  amount  of 
self-restraint,  in  view  of  tribal  sanctions,  which  differentiates 
him  widely  from  any  gregarious  animal.  Savages  are  not 
unfrequently  capable  of  extreme  devotion  and  self-sacrifice 
when  the  interests  of  the  tribe  are  at  stake :  instances  are 
not  rare  in  which  they  will  deliberately  choose  to  be  shot 
rather  than  betray  the  plans  of  their  fellow-tribesmen.  It  is 
to  such  cases  as  these  that  we  must  attribute  the  discre- 
pancies in  the  accounts  of  savage  morality  given  by  different 
travellers.!  If  we  do  not  stop  to  analyze  the  matter,  such 
instances  may  seem  to  prove  that  the  savage  is  morally  on  h 
level  with  us.  But  the  analysis  of  countless  seemingly  in- 
consistent observations  shows  that  savage  virtues  are,  in 
general,  confined  to  the  clan.  The  same  savage  who  will 
kjuffer  torture  with  equanimity,  rather  than  betray  his  com- 
rades, is  also  capable  of  the  most  fiendisli  cruelty  and 
treachery  toward  the  members  of  another  clan.  For  the 
very  forces  which,  during  long  ages,  have  brought  him  to  the 
point  at  which  he  can  sacrifice  his  own  pleasure  to  the  good 
of  the  tribe,  have  also  been  impressing  upon  him  the 
meritoriousness  of  letting  loose  aU  his  brutal  instincts  beyond 
the  tribal  limits.  The  savage  has  no  sense  of  the  wickedness 
of  killing,   stealing,  and  lying,  in   the  abstract,  or  of  the 

1  Between  different  savage  races,  moreover,  there  are  undoubtedly  greai 
differences  in  emotional  characteristics.  While  some,  as  the  Fijis,  are  excepp 
tionaliy  ferocious,  others,  as  the  Hawaiians  and  Eskimos,  appear  to  be  conv 
parf.t.ively  gentle  and  sympathetic. 


CH.  xxii.J  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  351 

horrible  cruelty  of  tying  his  enemy  to  a  tree  and  slowly 
burning  him  to  death  with  firebrands.  To  the  Indians 
described  by  ]\Ir.  Parkman,  such  villany  formed  the  most 
delightful  of  recreations. 

Thus,  though  the  savage  has  the  germ  of  a  moral  sense, 
which  prompts  him,  irrespective  of  utilitarian  considerations, 
to  postpone  his  personal  welfare  to  that  of  his  clan,  he  can 
by  no  means  be  accredited  with  a  fully  developed  moral  sense. 
And  the  incentives  which  influence  him  are  not  what  we 
call  moral  sentiments,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  phrase. 
"  They  are  simply  sentiments  that  precede  and  make  possible 
those  highest  sentiments  which  do  not  refer  either  to  personal 
benefits  or  evils  to  be  expected  from  men,  or  to  more  remote 
rewards  and  punishments."  The  lower  incentives  have 
indeed  continued  to  exert  a  powerful,  perhaps  a  predomina- 
ting, influence  down  to  the  present  time.  So  long  as  readers 
are  found  for  ethical  treatises,  like  that  of  Jonathan  Dymond, 
in  which  the  sole  ground  of  moral  obligation  is  held  to  be 
the  supematurally  revealed  fiat  of  an  anthropomorphic  Deity  ; 
'*  while  sermons  set  forth  the  torments  of  the  damned  and 
the  joys  of  the  blessed  as  the  chief  deterrents  and  incentives, 
aud  while  we  have  prepared  for  us  printed  instructions  '  how 
to  make  the  best  of  both  worlds  ' ;  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
the  feelings  which  impel  and  restrain  men  are  still  largely 
composed  of  elements  like  those  operative  on  the  savage, — 
the  dread,  partly  vague,  partly  specific,  associated  with  the 
idea  of  reprobation,  human  and  divine,  and  the  sense  of 
satisfaction,  partly  vague,  partly  specific,  associated  with  the 
idea  of  approbation,  human  and  divine."^  But  a  sound 
ethical  philosophy  regards  it  as  degrading  to  perform  good 
actions  or  to  refrain  from  performing  bad  actions  merely  in 
order  to  win  apjDlause  or  to  secure  a  place  in  heaven.  Some- 
.^hing  in(ire  is  needed  to  complete  our  account  of  tht'  moral 
lense. 

*  Spencer,  Principles  9/  Psyclwlogy,  vol.  ii.  p.  602. 


862  COSMIC  FEILOSOPHT.  [rr.  a 

Nevertheless,  the  more  perilous  portions  of  the  labyrinth 
have  been  traversed,  I  hope  with  safety,  and  we  now  need 
only  one  more  clew  to  bring  ns  to  the  light.  We  shall  best 
realize  the  character  of  this  additional  element  needed,  if  we 
consider  for  a  moment  the  most  general  aspects  of  the  two 
groups  of  feelings  already  described.  While  the  feelings  of 
which  we  first  treated  under  the  head  of  pleasures  and  paiiis 
are  purely  egoistic  or  self-regarding  feelings,  on  the  other  hand 
the  feelings  which  we  have  lately  described  as  underlying 
and  forming  the  groundwork  of  the  moral  sense  in  a  state  of 
sociality  have  been  happily  characterized  by  Mr.  Spencer  as 
"  ego-altruistic  "  feelings.  That  is,  they  concern  the  happi- 
ness of  the  individual  iu  so  far  as  it  depends  upon  the 
feelings  with  which  his  fellow-creatures  regard  him.  The 
mixed  feeling  ordinarily  known  as  generosity,  for  example,  is 
often  to  a  very  large  extent  ego-altruistic.  "The  state  of 
consciousness  which  accompanies  performance  of  an  act 
beneficial  to  another  is  usually  mixed ;  and  often  the  pleasure 
given  is  represented  less  vividly  than  are  the  recipient's 
feeling  toward  the  giver  and  the  approval  of  spectators.  The 
sentiment  of  generosity  proper  is,  however,  unmixed  in  those 
cases  where  t.'ie  benefaction  is  anonymous :  provided,  also, 
that  there  is  no  contemplation  of  a  reward  to  be  reaped  here- 
after. These  conditions  being  fulfilled,  the  benefaction  clearly 
implies  a  vivid  representation  of  the  pleasurable  feelings 
'usually  themselves  representative)  which  the  recipient  will 
have."  ^ 

This  vivid  representation  of  the  pleasurable  or  painful  feel- 
ings experienced  by  others  is  sympathy ;  and  the  additional 
factor  to  be  taken  into  the  account,  in  order  to  complete  the 
explanation  of  the  moral  sense,  is  the  enormous  expansion  of 
tjympathy  which  has  been  due  to  the  continued  integration 
of  communities,  and  to  the  accompanying  decrease  of  warlike 
Di  predatory  activity.  A  word  of  passing  comment  only  i» 
*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  voL  ii.  p.  613. 


CH.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  863 

needed  for  the  cynical  theory  that  sympathy  is  but  an 
ethereally  refined  selfishness,  and  that  when  we  relieve  a 
fellow-creatiire  in  distress  we  do  it  only  because  it  pains  us 
to  see  him  suffer.  This  is  true ;  but  when  the  pain  occa- 
sioned by  the  sight  of  another's  suffering,  or  by  the  idea  of 
sujiering  and  wrong  when  generalized  and  detached  from  the 
incidents  of  particular  cases,  becomes  so  strong  as  to  deter- 
mine our  actions,  then  the  chasm  is  entirely  crossed  which 
divides  us  psychically  from  the  brutes.  Between  the  Fiji, 
who  keenly  relishes  the  shrieks  of  his  human  victim,  and 
Uncle  Toby,  who  could  not  kill  a  fly  and  pitied  even  the 
Devil,  the  difference  has  come  to  be  generic.  And  when  this 
kind  of  self-pleasing  is  carried  so  far  as  to  lead  a  man  to  risk 
his  life  in  the  effort  to  rescue  a  stranger,  or  perhaps  even  an 
enemy,  from  fire,  or  drowning,  it  is  so  widely  removed  from 
what  we  mean  when  we  speak  of  selfishness  as  to  be  antithe- 
tical to  it.  We  do  not  describe  the  workings  of  Shakespeare's 
genius  as  reflex  actions,  though  all  intelligence  was  originally 
reflex  action.  Neither  are  we  justified  in  describing  as 
selfish  the  actions  which  are  dictated  by  sympathy,  though 
all  sympathy  is  in  its  origin  a  kind  of  self-pleasing. 

As  already  shown  in  describing  the  chief  characteristics 
of  the  evolution  of  society,  the  primary  cause  which  has 
developed  sympathy  at  the'  expense  of  the  egoistic  instincts 
has  been  the  continued  integration  of  communities,  originally 
mere  tribes  or  clans,  into  social  aggregates  of  higher  and 
higher  orders  of  complexity.  For  by  this  long-continued 
process  the  opportunities  for  the  exercise  of  the  altruistic 
feelings  have  been  necessarily  increased  in  number  and  fre- 
q^uency  of  occurrence,  while  the  occasions  requiring  the  ex- 
ercise of  the  anti-social  feelings  have  become  less  frequent, 
.  o  that  the  former  set  of  feelings  have  become  strengthened 
by  use,  while  the  latter  have  become  relatively  weakened  by 
disuse.  Along  with  this  direct  and  obvious  effect  of  social 
integration,  another  effect  has  been  wrought,  indirect  and 

VOL.  n.  A  A 


354  COSMIC  PEILOSOPST,  [ft.  ii. 

less  obvious.  A  high  development  of  sympathy  cannot  be 
Beciired  without  a  high  development  of  representativeness,  so 
closely  inter-related  are  our  intellectual  and  moral  natures. 
A  very  feeble  faculty  of  imagining  objects  and  relations  not 
present  to  sense  must  necessitate  an  absence  of  active  sym- 
pathetic emotion,  save  in  its  crudest  form.  It  is  a  familiar 
fact  that  many  men  are  cruel,  in  word  or  deed,  because  they 
are  incapable  of  adequately  representing  to  themselves  the 
pain,  physical  or  mental,  of  which  they  are  the  cause.  The 
validity  of  such  an  interpretation  is  confirmed  by  the  fact 
that  even  where  there  is  very  high  representative  capacity, 
the  lack  of  the  requisite  elements  of  personal  experience  will 
prevent  the  rise  of  sympathetic  feeling.  Thus  it  is  notori- 
ously difficult  for  strong  and  healthy  people  to  enter  into 
the  feelino'S  of  those  who  are  weak  and  nervous.     These  facts 

O 

show  that  the  development  of  sympathy  is  largely  deter- 
;  mined  by  the  development  of  the  representative  faculty  and 
;  by  increasing  width  and  variety  of  experience.  With  the 
simplest  form  of  sympathy,  such  as  the  painful  thrill  felt 
on  seeing  some  one  in  a  dangerous  position,  contrast  such  a 
complex  sentiment  as  the  sense  of  injustice,  and  it  becomes 
evident  that  the  latter  feeling  differs  from  the  former  mainly 
in  degree  and  quantity  of  representativeness.  In  the  former 
case  there  is  a  representation  of  the  injury  or  death  im- 
pending over  some  person  immediately  in  sight;  and  it  is 
the  shrinking  from  this  detriment  to  the  fulness  of  life  of 
another  person  which  constitutes  the  sympathetic  feeling.  In 
the  latter  case — supposing,  for  example,  the  kind  of  injustice 
in  question  to  be  that  against  which  English-speaking  people 
have  made  provision  in  habeas  corpus  acts — there  is  the 
•ympathetic  excitement  of  that  highly  representative  egoistic 
Beniiment  known  as  the  love  of  personal  freedom.  At  first 
a  mere  recalcitration  against  whatever  impedes  the  free  action 
of  the  limbs,  this  egoistic  feeling  has,  through  increased 
power  of  representation,  developed  into  a  dislike  and  dread 


CH.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  855 

of  whatever  possible  combination  of  circumstances  may  in 
any  way,  however  remotely,  interfere  with  the  fullest  legiti- 
mate exercise  of  all  the  functions  of  physical  and  psychical 
life.  To  have  this  complex  feeling  sympathetically  excited 
for  persons  whom  one  has  never  seen,  and  who  are  perhaps 
yet  unborn, — and  still  more,  to  be  so  far  possessed  by  this 
highly  generalized  and  impersonal  sympathy  as  to  risk  one's 
own  liberty  and  life  in  efforts  to  avert  the  possible  evila 
which  are  the  objects  of  its  dread, — implies  a  power  of  re- 
presenting absent  relations  such  as  has  yet  been  acquired  by 
only  two  or  three  of  the  most  highly  gifted  families  of  man- 
kind. And  manifestly  the  sentiments  which  respond  to  the 
notions  of  justice  and  injustice  in  the  abstract,  are  still  more 
remotely  representative,  stiU  more  highly  generalized,  and 
still  more  thoroughly  disengaged  from  the  consideration  of 
concrete  instances  of  pleasure  and  pain. 

To  this  expansion  of  the  power  of  sympathetically  represent- 
ing feelings  detached  from  the  incidents  of  particular  cases, 
until  the  sphere  of  its  exercise  has  become  even  wider  than 
the  human  race,  and  includes  all  sentient  existence,  is  due 
our  instinctive  abhorrence  of  actions  which  the  organically 
registered  experience  of  mankind  has  associated  with  pain 
and  evil,  and  our  instinctive  approval  of  actions  similarly 
associated  with  pleasure  and  increased  fulness  of  life.  It 
is  not  that,  as  in  intellectual  progress,  there  has  been  a 
registration  of  inferences,  at  first  conscious,  but  finally  auto- 
matic ;  but  it  is  that  there  ha's  been  a  registration  of  feelings 
respectively  awakened  by  pleasure-giving  and  pain-giving 
actions.  And  just  as  mep's  intellectual  conceptions  of  the 
causes  of  phenomena  become  more  and  more  impersonal 
IS  they  are  extended  ovei  wider  and  wider  groups  of  pheno- 
mena, generating  at  last  an  abstract  conception  of  Universal 
Cause,  so  free  from  the  element  of  personality  that  to  less 
cultivated  minds  it  seems  atheistic ;  so  in  like  manner,  as 
the  sympathetic  feelings  are  extended  over  Avider  and  wider 

A  A  2 


356  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  h. 

areas,  no  longer  needing  the  stimulus  of  present  pains  and 
pleasures  to  call  them  forth,  they  generate  at  last  an  ab- 
stract moral  sense,  so  free  from  the  element  of  personality 
that  to  grosser  minds  it  is  unintelligible.  The  savage  cannot 
understand  the  justice  which  he  sees  among  Europeans,  and 
the  mercy  of  the  white  man  is  ascribed  by  him  to  imbecility 
or  fear.  To  him  some  personal  end  seems  necessary  as  an 
incentive  to  action.  But  the  philanthropist  finds  an  adequate 
incentive  in  the  contemplation  of  injustice  in  the  abstract. 

Thus  the  ethical  theories,  as  well  as  the  psychology,  of  the 
schools  of  Hume  and  Kant,  appear  to  be  reconciled  in  the 
deeper  synthesis  rendered  possible  by  the  theory  of  evolu- 
tion. On  the  one  hand,  it  is  a  corollary  from  the  laws  of 
life  that  actions  desired  by  the  individual  and  approved  by 
the  community  must  in  the  long  run  be  those  which  tend 
to  heighten  the  life  respectively  of  the  individual  and  of 
the  community.  And  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  equally  true 
that  there  is  a  highly  complex  feeling,  the  product  of  a  slow 
emotional  evolution,  which  prompts  us  to  certain  lines  of 
conduct  irrespective  of  any  conscious  estimate  of  pleasures 
or  utilities.  In  no  department  of  inquiry  is  the  truth  and 
grandeur  of  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution  more  magnificently 
illustrated  than  in  the  province  of  ethics. 

Before  we  conclude,  there  are  one  or  two  further  points 
to  which  it  seems  necessary  to  allude.  In  asserting  that  we 
possess  an  instinctive  and  inherited  moral  sense,  it  is  not 
meant  that  we  possess,  anterior  to  education  and  experience, 
an  organic  preference  for  certain  particular  good  actions, 
and  an  organic  repugnance  to  certain  particular  bad  actions. 
We  do  not  inherit  a  horror  of  stealing,  any  more  than  the 
Hindu  inherits  the  horror  of  killing  cattle.  We  simply 
inherit  a  feeling  which  leads  us,  when  we  are  told  that 
Btealing  is  wrong,  to  shun  it,  without  needing  to  be  taught 
that  it  is  detrimental  to  society.  Hence  there  is  a  chance 
for  pathological  disturbances  in  the  relations  betweeo  tha 


ra.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MOB  ALLY.  357 

moral  sense  and  the  actions  with  whicli  it  is  concerned. 
Imperfectly  adjusted  moral  codes  arise,  and  false  principles 
of  action  gain  temporary  currency.  These,  nevertheless, 
come  ultimately  to  outrage  our  sympathies,  and  are  conse- 
quently overthrown;  while  the  principles  of  action  which 
really  tend  to  heighten  the  life  of  society  are  sustained  by 
our  sympathies  ever  more  and  more  forcibly,  and  at  last 
become  invested  with  a  sacredness  which  is  denied  to  the 
others.  Hence  arises  the  ethical  distinction  between  mala 
prohihita  and  mala  in  se. 

Finally,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that,  when  the  intelligence 
is  very  high,  there  is  likely  to  arise  a  deliberate  pursuit  of 
moral  excellence,  attended  by  a  distinct  knowledge  of  the 
elements  in  which  such  excellence  consists.    Instead  of  being 
primeval,  as  the  cruder  utilitarianism  seems  to  have  imagined, 
such  conscious  devotion  to  ends  conducive  to  the  happiness 
of  society  is  the  latest  and  highest  product  of  social  evolu- 
tion, and  becomes  possible   only  when  the  moral  sense  is 
extremely   developed.      At   this   stage,    ethical   conceptions 
begin  to  be  reflected  back  upon  the  conduct  of  the  individual 
where  it  concerns  solely  or  chiefly  himself;  and  the  self- 
regarding  virtues,  as  Mr.  Darwin  calls  them,  which  are  quite 
unknown  save  in   a   high   state  of  civilization,  come   into 
existence.     The  injury  of  one's  self,  by  evil  thoughts,  in- 
temperate behaviour,  or  indulgence  of  appetite,  comes  to  be 
regarded  as  not  only  physically  injurious,  but  morally  wrong ; 
and  there  arises  the  opinion  that  it  is  selfish  and  wicked  for 
one  to  neglect  one's  own  health  or  culture.     Here  we  ap- 
proach the  limits  at  which  morality  shades  off  into  religion. 
For,  as  I  shall  hereafter  show,^  Fteligion  views  the  individual 
in  his  relations  to  the  Infinite  Power  manifested  in  a  uni- 
verse of  causally  connected  phenomena,  as  Morality  views 
him   in   relation   to   his    fellow-creatures.      Tc    violate   the 
decrees  of  l^ature  comes  to  be  considered  a  sin,  capable  of 
*  See  below,  part  iii.  chap.  v. 


SSa  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHT,  [pt.  ii 

awakening  keen  remorse  ;  for  to  him  whose  mental  habits 
have  been  nurtured  by  scientific  studies,  the  principles  of 
action  prescribed  by  the  need  for  harmonizing  inner  with 
outer  relations  are,  in  the  truest  sense,  the  decrees  of  God. 

And  now,  having  reached  the  terminus  of  our  inquiry,  let 
us  look  back  over  the  course  for  a  moment,  that  we  may 
Bee  the  character  of  the  progress  we  have  achieved.  Such  a 
retrospect  is  here  especially  needed,  because  the  complexity 
of  our  subject  has  been  so  great,  and  the  range  of  our  illus- 
trations so  wide,  that  the  cardinal  points  in  our  argument 
have  perhaps  run  some  risk  of  getting  overlaid  and  con- 
cealed from  view,  and  in  particular  it  may  not  be  sufficiently 
obvious  how  completely  we  have  attained  the  object  set 
before  us  as  the  goal  of  the  present  chapter  and  its  pre- 
decessor, namely,  to  explain  the  genesis  of  the  psychical 
lorces  which  wrought  the  decisive  change  from  animality 
to  humanity.  That  we  may  well  appreciate  the  solid  con- 
sistency of  the  entire  argument  concerning  the  Genesis  of 
Man,  let  us  therefore  contemplate  in  a  single  view  its 
various  factors. 

We  have  seen  that  the  progress  from  brute  to  man  has 
been  but  slightly  characterized  by  change  in  general  bodily 
structure  in  comparison  with  the  enormous  change  which 
has  been  wrought  in  the  cerebrum,  and  in  those  highest 
psychical  functions  which  stand  in  correlation  with  the  con- 
dition of  the  cerebrum.  We  have  seen  that  the  develop- 
ment of  these  highest  psychical  functions,  in  aU  their 
wondrous  variety  and  complexity,  has  consisted  at  bottom 
in  the  increase  of  the  power  of  mentally  representing  objects 
and  relations  remote  from  sense.  By  the  reiterated  testimony 
of  many  diverse  kinds  of  illustrative  facts,  we  have  been 
convinced  that  in  mere  quantity  of  representative  capacity, 
with  its  infinitely  various  consequences,  the  civilized  man 
lurpasses  the  lowest  savage  by  a  far  greater  interval  fchaa 


CH.  XXII.]  GENJSSrS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY,  859 

that  "by  wlncTi.  the  lowest  savage  surpasses  the  highest  ape  ; 
just  as  the  gulf  between  the  cerebral  capacity  of  the  English- 
man and  that  of  the  non-Aryan  dweller  in  Hindustan  is  six 
times  greater  than  the  gulf  which  similarly  divides  the  non- 
Aryan  Hindu  from  the  gorilla.  And  we  have  indicated  in 
sundry  ways  how  this  increase  in  representative  capacity^ 
itself  a  pre-requisite  to  any  high  degree  of  social  combination, 
has  been  furthered  by  each  advance  in  social  combination, 
so  that  the  enormous  psychical  progi'ess  achieved  since  man- 
kind became  distinctly  human  has  been  mainly  dependent 
upon  that  increasing  heterogeneity  of  experience  which  in- 
creasing social  integration  has  supplied. 

But  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  psychical  progress  achieved 
since  mankind  became  distinctly  human  is  so  much  greater 
in  quantity  than  that  which  was  required  to  carry  it  from 
apehood  to  manhood,  we  were  led  to  adopt  the  Duke  ol 
Argyll's  suggestion,  that  the  boundary  was  really  crossed 
when  this  preliminary  and  less  conspicuous  psychical  pro- 
gress had  been  achieved.  And  working  out  the  happy 
thought  which  science  owes  to  Mr.  Wallace,  we  concluded 
that  this  comparatively  inconspicuous  but  all-essential  step 
in  psychical  progress  was  taken  when  the  intelligence  of  the 
progenitors  of  mankind  had  reached  the  point  where  a  slight 
increase  in  representative  capacity  came  to  be  of  greater 
utility  to  the  species  than  any  practicable  variation  in  bodily 
structure.  Here  our  first  line  of  inquiry  ended.  So  far  as  the 
mere  subordination  of  physical  to  psychical  modification  is 
concerned,  the  character  of  the  progress  from  apehood  to 
manhood  now  became  intelligible. 

But  at  this  point  we  were  confronted  with  a  new  question, 
suggested  by  some  of  the  conclusions  obtained  on  our  first 
lino  of  inquiry.  Having  perceived  that  the  intellectuul 
progress,  or  increase  in  representative  capacity,  which  dis- 
tinguishes nian  from  brute,  is  so  intimately  connected  with 
wan's  capacity  for   social  combination,   it   became  needful 


S60  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [rr.  it 

to  search  for  the  circumstances  which  hegot  in  the  progeni- 
tors of  mankind  the  capacity  for  a  kind  of  social  combina- 
tion more  definite  in  the  character  of  its  relationships  than 
that  quasi-social  combination,  not  uncommon  among  mam- 
mals, which  is  known  as  gregariousness.  In  other  words, 
seeing  that  such  thinkers  as  Sir  Henry  Maine  have  shown 
that  the  primordial  unit  of  society,  by  the  manifold  com- 
pounding of  which  great  tribes  and  nations  have  come  into 
existence,  was  the  aboriginal  family  group,  with  its  nascently 
ethical  relationships  between  the  members,  how  shall  we 
explain  the  genesis  of  these  family  groups,  which  have 
nothing  strictly  answering  to  them,  either  among  non- 
human  primates  or  among  other  gregarious  animals  ? 

The  feature  by  which  the  most  rudimentary  human  family 
group  is  distinguished  from  any  collocation  of  kindred  in- 
dividuals among  gregarious  mammals  is  the  permanent 
character  of  the  relationships  between  its  constituent  mem- 
bers. Enduring  from  birth  until  death,  these  relationships 
acquire  a  traditionary  value  which  passes  on  from  genera- 
tion to  generation,  and  thus  there  arise  reciprocal  necessities 
of  behaviour  between  parents  and  children,  husbands  and 
wives,  brethren  and  sisters,  in  which  reciprocal  necessities 
of  behaviour  we  have  discerned  the  requisite  conditions  for 
the  genesis  of  those  ego-altruistic  impulses  which,  when 
further  modified  by  the  expansion  of  the  sympathetic  feelings, 
give  birth  to  moral  sentiments.  Accordingly  the  pheno- 
menon which  demands  explanation  is  the  existence  of  per- 
manent relationships,  giving  rise  to  reciprocal  necessities  of 
behaviour,  among  a  group  of  individuals  associated  for  the 
performance  of  sexual  and  parental  functions. 

Tho  explanation,  as  I  have  shown,  is  to  be  found  in  thai 
gradual  prolongation  of  the  period  of  infancy,  which  is  one 
of  the  consequences,  as  yet  but  partially  understood,  of  in- 
creasing intelligence.    Let  us  observe  the  causal  connections 


CH.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MdN,  MORALLY.  361 

80  far  as  we  can  trace  tliom  out,  recalling  some  of  tlie  conclu- 
sions reached  in  the  chapter  on  the  Evolution  of  Mind. 

In  an  animal  whose  relations  with  its  environment  are 
very  simple,  resulting  in  an  experience  which  is  but  slightly 
varied,  the  combinations  of  acts  requisite  for  suppor*^  ing  life 
take  place  with  a  regularity  and  monotony  approaching  the 
monotonous  regularity  with  which  the  functions  of  the 
viscera  are  performed.  Hence  the  tendency  to  perform  these 
actions  is  completely  established  at  birth  in  each  individual, 
just  as  the  tendency  of  the  viscera  to  perform  their  several 
functions  is  pre-established,  all  thai  is  required  in  addition 
being  simply  the  direct  stimulus  of  outward  physical  oppor- 
tunity. And  the  psychical  life  of  such  an  animal  we  call 
purely  instinctive  or  automatic.  In  such  an  animal  the 
organized  experience  of  the  race  counts  for  everything,  the 
experience  of  the  individual  for  nothing,  save  as  contributing 
its  mite  towards  the  cumulated  experience  of  the  race.  But 
in  an  animal  whose  relations  with  its  environment  are  very 
complex,  resulting  in  an  experience  which  is  necessarily 
varied  to  a  considerable  extent  from  generation  to  generation, 
the  combinations  of  acts  requisite  for  supporting  life  must 
occur  severally  with  far  less  frequency  than  in  the  case  of 
the  lower  animal  just  considered.  Hence  the  tendency  tc 
perform  any  particular  group  of  these  actions  will  not  be 
completely  established  at  birth  in  each  individual,  like  the 
tendency  of  the  viscera  to  perform  their  several  functions. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  will  be  a  multitude  of  conflictincr 
tendencies,  and  it  will  be  left  for  the  circumstances  subse- 
quent to  birth  to  determine  which  groups  of  tendencies  shall 
be  carried  out  into  action.  The  psychical  life  of  such  an 
animal  is  no  longer  purely  automatic  or  instinctive.  A 
portion  of  its  life  is  spent  in  giving  direction  to  its  future 
career,  and  in  thus  further  modifying  the  inherited  tendencies 
with  which  its  offspring  start  in  life.  In  such  an  animal  the 
organized  experience  of  the  race  counts  for  much,  but  the 


562  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHY.  i?T.  ti. 

special  experience  of  the  individual  counts  for  something  in 
altering  the  future  career  of  the  race.  Such  an  animal  is 
capable  of  psychical  progress,  and  such  an  animal  must 
begin  life,  not  with  matured  faculties,  but  as  an  infant. 
Instead  of  a  few  actually  realized  capacities,  it  starts  with  a 
host  of  potential  capacities,  of  which  the  play  of  circumstance 
must  determine  what  ones  shall  be  realizable. 

Manifestly,  therefore,  the  very  state  of  things  which  made 
psychical  variation  more  advantageous  to  the  progenitors  of 
mankind  than  physical  variation,  this  very  state  of  things 
simultaneously  conspired  to  enhance  the  progressiveness  of 
primeval  man  and  to  prolong  the  period  of  his  infancy,  until 
the  plastic  or  malleable  part  of  his  life  came  to  extend  over 
several  years,  instead  of  terminating  in  rigidity  in  the  course 
of  four  or  five  months,  as  with  the  orang-outang.  Upon  the 
consequences  of  this  state  of  things,  in  gradually  bringing 
about  that  capacity  for  progress  which  distinguishes  man  from 
all  lower  animals,  I  need  not  further  enlarge.  What  we 
have  here  especially  to  note,  amid  the  entanglement  of  all 
these  causes  conspiring  to  educe  humanity  from  animality,  is 
the  fact,  illustrated  above,  that  this  prolongation  of  infancy 
was  manifestly  the  circumstance  which  knit  those  permanent 
relationships,  giving  rise  to  reciprocal  necessities  of  behaviour, 
\i  hich  distinguish  the  rudest  imaginable  family  group  of  men 
from  the  highest  imaginable  association  of  gregarious  non- 
human  primates. 

In  this  line  of  inquiry,  which,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  iievei 
yet  been  noticed  by  any  of  the  able  writers  who  have  dealt 
with  the  origin  of  the  human  race,  it  seems  to  me  that  we 
have  the  clew  to  the  solution  of  the  entire  problem.  In  this 
new  suggestion  as  to  the  causes  and  the  effects  of  the  pro- 
longed infancy  of  man,  I  believe  we  have  a  suggestion  as 
fruitful  as  the  one  which  we  owe  to  Mr.  Wallace.  And  the 
most  beautiful  and  striking  feature  in  this  treatment  of  the 
problem  is  the  way  in  which  all  the  suggestions  hitherto 


CH.  XXII.]  GENESIS  OF  MAN,  MORALLY.  863 

made  agree  in  helping  ns  to  the  solution.  That  same  inciease 
in  representativeness,  which  is  at  the  bottom  of  intellectual 
progressiveness,  is  also  at  the  bottom  of  sociality,  since  it 
necessitates  that  prolongation  of  infancy  to  which  the  genesis 
of  sociality,  as  distinguished  from  mere  gregariousness,  must 
look  for  its  explanation.  In  this  phenomenon  of  the  pro- 
longing of  the  period  of  infancy  we  find  the  bond  of  connec- 
tion between  the  problems  which  occupy  such  thinkers  as 
Mr.  "Wallace  and  those  which  occupy  such  thinkers  as  Sir 
Henry  Maine.  We  bridge  the  guK  which  seems,  on  a  super- 
ficial view,  for  ever  to  divide  the  human  from  the  brute  world. 
And  not  least,  in  the  grand  result,  is  the  profound  meaning 
which  is  given  to  the  phenomena  of  helpless  babyhood. 
From  of  old  we  have  heard  the  monition,  "  Except  ye  be  as 
babes,  ye  cannot  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  The  latest 
science  now  shows  us — though  in  a  very  different  sense  of 
the  words — that,  unless  we  had  been  as  babes,  the  ethical 
phenomena  which  give  all  its  significance  to  the  phrase 
•*  kingdom  of  heaven  "  would  have  been  non-existent  for  us. 
Without  the  circumstances  of  infancy  we  might  have  become 
formidable  among  animals  through  sheer  force  of  sharp- 
wittedness.  But,  except  for  these  circumstances,  we  should 
'.ever  have  comprehended  the  meaning  of  such  phrases  as 
"  self-sacrifice "  or  "  devotion."  The  phenomena  of  social 
life  would  have  been  omitted  from  the  history  of  the  world, 
and  with  them  the  phenomena  of  ethics  and  of  religion. 


PAET  in. 

COROLLARIES. 


"  "Was  ■war'  ein  Gott  der  nnr  von  anssen  stlesse, 
Im  Kreis  das  All  am  Finger  laufen  liesse  I 
Ihm  ziemt's  die  "Welt  im  Innern  zu  bewegen, 
Natur  in  Sich,  Sich  in  Natur  zu  hegen  ; 
So  dass  was  in  Ihm  lebt  und  webt  und  ist 
Nie  seine  Kraft,  nie  seinen  Geist  vennisst." 

Goethe. 

"For  my  thouglits  are  not  your  thoughts,  neither  are  your  ways  my  ways, 
Baith  the  Lord.  For  as  the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth,  so  axe  my 
ways  higher  than  your  ways,  and  my  thoughts  than  your  thoughts."— Ibajaii. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE   QUESTION  EESTATED. 

A  Synthesis  of  scientific  doctrines  has  now  been  fairly  con- 
structed, iu  accordance  with  the  plan  laid  out  in  the  eleventh 
chapter  of  our  Prolegomena.  We  have  passed  in  review  the 
sciences  which  deal  with  the  various  orders  of  phenomena 
that  make  up  the  knowable  universe,  and  we  have  contem- 
plated the  widest  truths  which  these  sciences  severally 
reveal,  as  corollaries  of  an  ultimate  truth.  Before  proceed- 
ing to  expound  our  Cosmic  Philosophy  in  its  final  results, 
let  us  briefly  sum  up  the  leading  conclusions '  at  which  we 
have  arrived. 

It  has  been  proved  to  follow  from  that  axiom  of  the  Per- 
sistence of  Force  upon  which  all  physical  science  is  based, 
that  the  mere  coexistence  of  innumerable  discrete  bodies  in 
the  universe,  exerting  attractive  and  repulsive  forces  upon 
each  other,  necessitates  a  perpetual  rhythmical  redistribution 
of  the  Matter  and  Motion  of  which  the  phenomenal  universe 
Ls  composed.  It  has  been  proved  that  this  eternal  rhythm 
must  of  necessity  be  manifested  in  alternating  eras  both 
general  and  local,  of  Evolution  and  Dissolution, —  eras  in  which 
now  the  concentration  of  Matter  and  dissipation  of  Motion, 
and  now  the  diffusion  of  Matter  and  absorption  of  Motion, 
predominate, — eras  which  may  be  short,  as  in  the  duration  of 


368  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  vl 

a  snow-crysta!  or  of  a  butterfly's  life,  or  long,  as  in  the 
duration  of  our  planetary  system.  It  has  been  proved  that 
the  process  of  Evolution,  during  which  Matter  is  chiefly 
being  concentrated  while  Motion  is  chiefly  being  lost,  must, 
under  certain  assigned  conditions,  result  in  a  continuous 
change  from  a  state  of  homogeneity,  indefiniteness,  and 
incoherence  to  a  state  of  heterogeneity,  definiteness,  and 
coherence. 

With  the  aid  of  these  demonstrated  truths  of  Physics, 
we  have  surveyed  the  histoiy  of  the  knowable  universe, 
intent  upon  finding  some  provisional  answer  to  the  time- 
honoured  question  of  Philosophy — whence  came  we,  what 
are  we,  and  whither  do  we  tend  ?  Throughout  all  the  pro* 
vinces  of  nature  we  have  traced  that  aspect  of  the  stupendous 
process  of  Evolution,  which  consists  in  the  transition  fron. 
indefinite  incoherent  homogeneity  to  definite  coherent  hetero- 
geneity. We  have  seen  it  exemplified  in  the  development 
of  our  planetary  system  from  a  relatively  homogeneous  ball 
of  vapour.  We  have  witnessed  it  as  shown  in  the  increasing 
physical  and  chemical  diversity  and  interdependence  of  the 
various  portions  of  the  surface  of  our  cooling  earth,  and  in 
those  wonderful  differentiations  by  which  solar  radiance  is 
metamorphosed  into  the  innumerable  forms  of  energy  mani- 
fested alike  by  winds  and  waves,  by  growing  plants  and 
animals,  and  by  reasoning  men.  We  have  described  it  in 
some  detail  as  revealed  in  the  gradual  change  of  a  seed  into 
a  tree  and  of  an  ovum  into  an  adult  mammal.  We  have 
observed  it  also  in  the  increasing  chemical  complexity  which 
at  a  remote  epoch  resulted  in  the  formation  of  living  proto- 
plasm ;  and  we  have  seen  how  from  this  earliest  protoplasm 
there  have  arisen,  in  the  course  of  ages  well-nigh  infinite  in 
duration,  the  myriad  forms  of  animal  and  vegetable  life. 
The  progress  toward  higher  complexity  and  higher  organiza- 
tion has  likewise  been  discov^ered  to  be  taking  place  in 
proctsses  as  well  as  in  things.     It  has  been  shown  that  Life  ia 


CH.  I.]  THE  QUESTION  BESTATEB.  869 

a  process,  consisting  in  a  series  of  adjustments  "between  the 
organism  and  its  environment ;  and  that  Mind,  objectively 
considered,  is  a  special  form  of  Life,  consisting  in  a  specialized 
portion  of  the  series  of  adjustments.  In  these  wondrous 
processes  we  have  found  the  Law  of  Evolution  most  beauti- 
fully exemplified ;  the  degree  of  Life,  or  of  Mind,  being 
high  in  proportion  not  only  to  the  extent  which  the  adjust- 
ments cover,  but  also  to  their  complexity,  definiteness,  and 
coherence.  That  superadded  process  known  as  Civilization 
or  social  progress,  has  also  been  shown  to  consist  in  a  series 
of  adjustments  between  the  community  and  its  environ- 
ment, in  the  course  of  which  society  becomes  ever  more  and 
more  complex  and  more  interdependent  in  its  various  ele- 
ments. That  moral  sense  which  underlies  social  progress 
and  renders  it  possible,  has  been  exhibited  as  the  noble 
product  of  the  slow  organization  of  those  feelings  of  pleasure 
and  pain  which,  in  highly-developed  organisms,  are  mainly 
concerned  in  enhancing  the  perfectness  of  the  adjustments 
in  which  Life  consists.  And  finally  we  have  witnessed  the 
wonderful  complication  of  cooperating  processes  by  which 
Humanity — the  crown  and  glory  of  the  universe  as  we 
know  it — has  been  evolved  from  a  lower  type  of  animal  life, 
'm  entire  conformity  to  the  general  law.  The  direct  and 
relatively-simple  processes  of  physical  adjustment  became 
at  length  almost  wholly  subordinated  to  the  indirect  and 
relatively-complex  processes  of  psychical  adjustment,  so  that 
variations  in  intelligence  came  to  be  selected  in  preference  to 
'ariations  in  physique  ;  the  increased  complexity  of  psychical 
i„djustments  entailed  the  lengthening  of  the  period  required 
for  organizing  them;  the  lengthening  of  infancy,  thus 
entailed,  brought  about  the  segregation,  into  permanent 
family -groups,  of  individuals  associated  for  the  performance 
of  sexual  and  parental  functions ;  the  maintenance  of  such 
family-groups  involved  the  setting  up  of  permanent  reciprocal 
necessities  of  behaviour  among  the  members  of  the  group ; 

VOL.  II.  B  B 


370  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  hi. 

in  tliis  way  the  ultimate  test  of  riglit  and  wrong  action  came 
to  be  the  welfare  of  the  community,  instead  of  the  welfare  of 
the  individual;  the  long  process  of  social  evolution,  thus 
inaugurated,  has  all  along  reacted  upon  individual  evolution, 
by  increasing  the  power  of  mental  representation,  and 
nourishing  sympathy  at  the  expense  of  egoism;  and  thu3, 
through  one  and  the  same  endlessly  complicated  plexus  of 
causes,  has  arisen  the  historic  Man,  with  his  Intellect  and 
his  Moral  Sense.  Yet  endlessly  complicated  as  the  process 
has  been,  we  see  that  it  is  throughout  definable  as  the  gradual 
substitution  of  adjustments  that  are  relatively-indirect,  hetero- 
geneous, and  highly  organized,  for  adjustments  that  are 
r'^latively- direct,  homogeneous,  and  slightly  organized. 

Thus  we  have  fulfilled  all  the  requirements  laid  down  in 
^ilki  concluding  chapter  of  our  Prolegomena.  We  have  found 
u  hypothesis  which  is  based  upon  properties  of  matter  and 
principles  of  dynamics  that  have  previously  been  established ; 
which  appeals  to  no  unknown  agency  and  invokes  no  un- 
known attribute  of  matter  or  motion;  and  which,  accord- 
ingly, contains  no  unverifiable  element.  This  hypothesis 
has  been  successfully  subjected  to  both  deductive  and  in- 
ductive verification.  In  every  department  of  nature  it  has 
triumphantly  borne  the  supreme  test  of  reconciling  the  order 
of  conceptions  with  the  order  of  phenomena.  And  in  our 
sociological  chapters,  as  well  as  in  the  chapters  on  the 
Genesis  of  Man,  it  has  enabled  us  to  detect  relations  among 
phenomena  which  had  hitherto  remained  in  obscurity. 

It  remains  to  add  that  this  grand  hypothesis,  for  the  con- 
ception and  elaboration  of  which  I  have  ventured  to  liken 
Mr.  Spencer  to  the  thinker  who  conceived  and  elaborated 
ihe  hypothesis  of  gravitation,  affords  in  itself  a  striking 
illustration  of  that  process  of  Evolution  which  it  formulatea 
Considered  as  an  event  in  intellectual  development,  this  dis- 
covery is  an  immense  extension  in  time  of  the  correspondence 
between  the  order  of  human  conceptions  and  the  order  of 


CH.  I.]  THE  QUESTION  RESTATED.  371 

pheuomena,  as  !N'ewtou's  discovery  "was  an  immense  exten- 
sion of  the  correspondence  in  space.  The  one  has  enabled 
us  to  adjust  our  mental  sequences  to  phenomena  as  distant 
as  the  Milky  Way;  the  other  carries  back  the  adjustments 
till  they  comprehend  the  birth  of  the  Solar  System.  The 
announcement  of  a  verifiable  Law  of  Evolution  is  but  the 
most  recent  phase  of  a  process  which  has  been  going  on 
from  the  time  when  men  first  began  to  speculate  about  the 
world  of  phenomena, — the  process  of  substituting  what  may 
be  called  dynamical  habits  of  thought  for  statical  habits. 
Clearly  the  formation  of  a  theory  of  the  universe,  whether 
as  expressed  in  the  crude  mythologies  of  barbarians  or  in 
the  elaborate  systems  of  modern  philosophers,  is  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  complex  group  of  subjective  relations  that  are 
either  very  imperfectly  or  much  more  completely  adjusted 
to  objective  relations.  All  men  now  existing,  whether  civil- 
ized or  savage,  with  the  exception  of  idiots  and  very  young 
children,  possess  some  such  theory,  however  vague  and 
shadowy  it  may  be.  Such  general  statements  as  ts^;y  be 
made  by  the  most  ignorant  boor  obviously  '-^-^  'y  some  dim 
conception  of  the  world  and  of  his  relations  to  it.  Even 
the  beliefs  that  the  moon  is  about  the  size  of  a  cheese,  or 
that  the  devil  has  bewitched  his  cattle,  are  parts  of  a  rudi- 
mentary kind  of  cosmic  philosophy.  Now  among  unedu- 
cated persons,  alike  in  barbarous  and  in  civilized  countries, 
the  cnide  philosophies  current  universally  imply  that  the 
general  arrangement  of  things  is  everywhere  and  in  all  ages 
substantially  the  same  as  it  is  witnessed  by  them  in  their 
immediate  environment.  Their  theories  are  not  adjusted  to 
remote  facts  in  time  and  space  which  only  a  thorough  educa- 
tion could  have  added  to  their  experience.  They  take  what 
we  may  call  a  statical  view  of  things.  Hence  they  suppose 
that  God  created  the  world  a  few  thousand  years  ago  in 
nearly  the  same  condition  in  which  we  now  behold  it; 
iradiHonal  observances,  such  as  the  keeping  of  a  Sabbath, 

B  B  2 


373  COSMIC  FEILOSOPST,  [pt.  III. 

advanced  social  institutions,  like  monogamy,  and  highly 
elaborated  philosophical  doctrines,  such  as  monotheism,  are 
unhesitatingly  referred  back  to  the  beginning  of  the  world  • 
and  it  is  in  general  taken  for  granted  that  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  current  in  past  ages  were  like  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  current  in  our  own.  Until  within  the  last  three 
or  four  generations  this  statical  view  of  things  was  shared 
by  cultivated  with  uncultivated  people,  though  with  some- 
what different  degrees  of  narrowness.  On  the  other  hand 
the  dynamic  view  of  things,  represented  by  the  Doctrine  of 
Evolution,  which  regards  the  universe  and  all  that  is  in 
it  as  presenting  a  different  aspect  from  epoch  to  epoch,  obvi- 
ously results  from  the  adjustment  of  our  theories  to  longer 
and  longer  sequences  in  the  past.  The  progress  of  geologic 
discovery,  revealing  the  immense  antiquity  of  the  earth,  was 
one  of  the  circumstances  which  began  to  arouse  in  educated 
people  a  tendency  to  regard  things  as  continually  though 
slowly  changing ;  and  the  theories  of  Goethe  and  Lyell,  the 
revolution  in  biology  wrought  by  Lamarck  and  Cuvier,  and 
the  application  of  the  comparative  method  to  the  historic 
and  philologic  interpretation  of  past  states  of  society,  deep- 
ened and  strengthened  this  tendency.  In  no  other  respect 
js  the  present  age  so  widely  distinguished  from  past  ages  as 
In  this  habit  of  looking  at  all  things  dynamically.  It  is 
Bliown  in  the  literary  criticism  of  Saiate-Beuve,  and  the  art- 
criticism  of  Taine,  and  in  the  historical  criticism  of  Momm- 
5en  or  Baur,  no  less  than  in  Mr,  Darwin's  science,  or  Mr. 
Spencer's  philosophy.  In  our  concluding  chapter  we  shall 
observe  some  of  the  practical  bearings  of  this  great  differ- 
ence in  mental  habit  between  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth 
centuries,  with  especial  reference  to  the  political  Utopias  of 
Rousseau,  and  to  the  attempts  of  the  Encyclopddistes  to  over- 
throw Christianity.  It  is  enough  for  us  now  to  bear  in 
mind  that  this  immense  widening  of  the  mental  horizon 
vrbich  modern  times  have  witnessed;   this  power  of  criti* 


sn.  l.^  T.UE  QUESTION  RESTATED  873 

cizing  sympathetically  the  relatively  rude  theories,  customs, 
and  prejudices  of  bygone  generations ;  this  ability  to  realize 
in  imagination  a  time  when  forms  of  life  now  wholly  distinct 
were  represented  by  a  common  ancestral  tj'pe,  or  a  time 
when  the  material  universe  existed  in  a  shape  very  differ- 
ent from  that  in  which  it  is  presented  to  our  senses ;  this 
growing  tendency  to  interpret  groups  of  phenomena  by 
reference  to  other  groups  of  phenomena  long  preceding ;  are 
all  alike  explicable,  in  an  ultimate  analysis,  as  a  prodigious 
extension  in  time  of  the  correspondence  between  the  human 
mind  and  its  environment. 

The  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  in  which  this  dynamical  habit 
of  viewing  things  is  reduced  to  a  system,  represents  also 
the  most  extensive  integration  of  correspondences  that  has 
yet  been  achieved.  The  continuous  organization  of  scientific 
truths  by  philosophy  has  all  along  been  a  progress  in  this 
kind  of  integration.  From  the  very  first  crude  observations 
and  the  earliest  cosmical  theories,  it  is  true  that  succeeding 
observations  have  all  along  had  their  results  incorporated 
with  the  cosmical  theories,  or  else  new  cosmical  theories 
have  been  framed,  which,  by  including  the  results  of  more 
mature  observation,  have  superseded  the  old  ones.  In  this 
way  the  progress  of  philosophy  has  on  the  whole  kept  pace 
with  that  of  science.  But  between  the  earlier  systems  and 
the  more  modern  ones  there  is  a  marked  difference  in  the 
extent  to  which  special  truths  in  different  departments  of 
"cience  are  made  to  support  and  illustrate  each  other.  For 
.he  gaps  in  the  scientific  knowledge  synthesized  in  older 
systems  were  so  considerable  that,  in  order  to  make  a  syn- 
thesis at  all,  it  was  necessary  to  incorporate  a  large  amount 
of  hypothetical  speculation  which  was  not  only  unverified 
but  unverifiable ;  so  that  the  relations  between  science  and 
philocophy  were  much  less  coherent  than  at  present.  To- 
day the  interdependence  is  more  complete  than  ever  before. 
Our  cosmic  theories  are  rapidly  modified  by  the  incorpora' 


374  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHT.  [PT.  IIL 

tion  of  tlie  results  of  countless  new  ol: serrations  in  all 
departments  of  science;  and  pliilosophy,  refraining  more 
and  more  from  ontological  speculations,  is  becoming  more 
and  more  thoroughly  identified  with  cosmology.  It  is  re- 
cognizing more  and  more  fully  that  its  proper  business  is 
to  oversee  and  coordinate  those  seemingly  separate  groups 
of  scientific  truths  which  scientific  specialists  have  not  the 
leisure,  and  often  neither  the  desire  nor  the  ability,  to  co- 
ordinate. And  obviously  the  philosophy  most  completely 
organized  after  this  manner,  constitutes  the  most  complete 
integration  of  correspondences  between  the  order  of  con- 
ceptions and  the  order  of  phenomena.  It  constitutes  an 
integral  body  of  knowledge,  the  various  members  of  which 
are  at  once  more  distinctly  demarcated  from  each  other  and 
more  intimately  dependent  upon  each  other  than  in  any 
previous  system. 

Thus,  in  accordance  with  the  expectation  held  out  in  an 
earlier  chapter,^  we  find  that  "from  the  earliest  traceable 
cosmical  changes  down  to  the  latest  products  of  civiliza- 
tion," there  has  been  going  on,  and  is  going  on,  a  ceaseless 
process  of  change,  of  which  the  main  features  are  simple 
enough  to  be  clearly  deducible  from  the  known  physical 
properties  of  the  universe,  but  of  which  the  stupendous 
grandeur  is  such  as  to  baffle  the  most  strenuous  efforts 
alike  of  reason  and  of  imaginatcn  to  follow  it  out  in  all 
its  concrete  details.  Thus,  too,  we  find  ourselves  amply 
rewarded  for  the  hope  with  which  we  set  out  upon  our  in- 
quiry,— namely,  that  in  henceforth  abandoning  vain  onto- 
logical speculation  we  were  by  no  means  about  to  dethrone 
Philosophy,  but  were  on  the  point  of  winning  for  it  even 
a  goodlier  realm  than  that  which  metaphysics  had  assigned 
to  it.  For  in  comparison  with  the  sublime  synthesis  of  truths 
which  the  foregoing  chapters  have  but  unworthily  interpreted 
all  previous  philosophic  speculation  seems  fragmentary,  crude 
1  See  above,  voL  L  p.  352. 


UK   I.]  THE  QUESTION  RESTATED,  875 

and  unsatisfying.  To  no  other  theory  of  things  yet  devised 
by  the  wit  of  man  can  we  so  well  apply  the  enthusiastic 
exclamatjon  of  Giordano  Bruno : — "  Con  questa  filosofia 
I'anima  mis'  aggrandisce,  e  mi  si  magnifica  rintelletto." 

But  while  one  part  of  our  task  has  thus  been  fairly 
accomplished,  another  and  equally  important  jart  still  re- 
mains to  be  disposed  of.  Questions  have  from  time  to  +irae 
been  implicitly  suggested,  to  which  provisional  answers  must 
be  given  before  our  Cosmic  Philosophy  can  be  regarded  as 
satisfactorily  expounded,  even  in  outline.  That  great  Doc- 
trine, for  the  establishing  of  which  all  departments  of  human 
knowledge  have  been  laid  under  contribution,  and  which  in 
turn  is  fast  remodelling  human  thinking  on  all  subjects 
whatever,  has  relations  of  the  closest  sort  with  religious 
philosophy.  Sundry  theological  questions  raised  in  the 
course  of  our  Prolegomena  must  now  be  considered  in  the 
light  of  the  general  principles  with  which  our  survey  of 
universal  evolution  has  furnished  us.  Questions  concern- 
ing God  and  the  Soul,  which  the  Positive  Philosophy  simply 
set  aside  as  unworthy  the  attention  of  scientific  thinkers, 
nevertheless  cannot  be  ignored  by  any  philosophy  which 
seeks  to  bring  about  a  harmony  between  human  knowledge 
and  human  aspirations ;  and  though  we  may  confess  our- 
selves unable  to  settle  such  questions,  as  scientific  questions 
are  settled,  we  may  yet  go  as  far  as  is  possible  without 
deserting  the  objective  method,  and  indicate  the  position 
which  we  occupy  with  reference  to  them.  We  have  already, 
in  the  earlier  part  of  this  work,  been  brought  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  phenomenal  universe  is  the  manifestation 
of  a  Divine  Power  that  cannot  be  identified  with  the  totality 
of  phenomena :  ^  we  have  now  to  unfold,  somewhat  more 
fully,  what  is  meant  by  this  theistic  conclusion.     We  have, 

*  This  is  implied  in  the  statements  in  vol.  i.  p.  88,  and  also  in  the  chapter 
in  "  AnthTopomorphism  and  Cosmism."     See  also  vol.  i.  p.  188. 


376  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  hi. 

at  every  fitting  opportunity,  declared  that  the  phenomena 
of  Mind  can  in  nowise  be  explained  as  movements  of 
Matter,^  while  at  the  same  time  a  law  of  evolution,  expressed 
in  terms  of  matter  and  motion,  is  found  to  include  the 
order  of  sequence  of  psychical  phenomena:  we  must  now 
attempt  to  clear  away  the  difficulties  which,  to  many  minds, 
no  doubt  cluster  around  the  seeming  paradox.  We  have 
also  hinted  that  beside  the  sphere  to  be  assigned  to  Morality, 
there  is  a  wider  sphere  to  be  assigned  to  Peligion:^  it 
behoves  us  now  to  show  what  are  the  general  functions  of 
religion,  in  accordance  with  our  fundamental  view  of  Life 
as  an  adjustment  between  inner  and  outer  relations.  And 
after  having  done  what  we  can  to  elucidate  these  points,  we 
must  conclude  by  describing  the  critical  attitude  which  our 
Cosmic  Philosophy  occupies  with  reference  to  other  systen>s 
of  belief  and  other  principles  of  action. 

The  central  problem,  which  must  first  occupy  us,  and  the 
decision  of  which  will  affect  the  treatment  of  all  the  others, 
is  the  problem  of  Theism.  What  kind  of  theism  is  it  which 
is  compatible  with  the  conclusions  reached  in  the  second 
part  of  this  work  concerning  the  past  and  present  states 
of  the  universe  ?  In  discussing  this  question  we  shall  pre- 
sently find  that  the  phase  of  theism  which  has  until  quite 
recently  been  the  current  phase,  and  which  is  still  the  phase 
officially  defended  by  theologians,  does  not  app:ar  to  be 
compatible  with  the  conclusions  referred  to.  As  in  treating 
of  the  preliminary  evidence  for  the  evolution  of  the  higher 
forms  of  life  from  lower  forms,  we  found  ourselves  at  every 
step  arrayed  in  opposition  to  the  doctrine  of  special  creations 
bequeathed  to  us  by  ancient  mythology,  so  now  upon  this 
wider  ground  we  shall  have  to  note  that  the  Doctrine  of 
Evolution  is  throughout  irreconcilably  opposed  to  the  Doc- 
trine  of  Creation,  so  that  the  establishment  of  the  formei 

1  See  vol.  i.  pp.  270,  412  ;  vol.  ii.  pp.  80,  162. 
■  See  above,  p.  357. 


CH.  I.J  THE  QUESTION  RESTATED.  377 

is  in  fact  synonymous  with  the  overt]iro\A  and  destruc- 
tion of  the  latter.  In  coming  to  regard  the  universe  as 
evolved  in  accordance  with  discernible  physical  laws,  work- 
ing throughout  a  lapse  of  time  to  which  human  thinking 
can  assign  neither  a  beginning  nor  an  end,  we  cease  to  re- 
gard it  as  created  at  any  given  point  of  time  in  accordance 
with  a  preconceived  plan  remotely  analogous  to  the  plans 
by  which  finite  intelligence  adapts  means  to  ends.  It  is  not, 
fl3  we  shall  see  in  a  moment,  that  the  one  conception  meta- 
physically refutes  the  other,  but  that  it  practically  super- 
sedes it,  and  enables  philosophy  to  dispense  with  it.  While 
upon  the  time-honoured  statical  view  of  things,  any  given 
group  of  phenomena  was  explained  by  a  reference  to  the 
direct  creative  action  of  a  divine  Power  extraneous  to  the 
Cosmos ;  on  the  other  hand,  upon  the  modern  dynamical 
view  of  things,  any  given  group  of  phenomena  is  explained 
by  a  reference  to  some  antecedent  group  of  phenomena,  while 
all  phenomena  alike  are  regarded  as  the  sensible  manifes- 
tations of  a  divine  Power  immanent  in  the  Cosmos.  It 
becomes  desirable,  therefore,  to  inquire  whether  on  the  new 
view  there  is  any  ground  for  assuming,  as  was  necessarily 
assumed  on  the  old  view,  that  the  divine  Power  works  by 
methods  analogous  to  human  methods.  The  question  which 
we  have  to  answer  is  not  whether  there  exists  a  God.  As 
wd%  clearly  shown  in  the  first  part  of  this  work,  and  as  will 
presently  be  still  more  emphatically  reiterated,  our  Cosmic 
Philosoxjhy  is  based  upon  the  affirmation  of  God's  existence, 
and  not  upon  the  denial  of  it,  like  irreligious  Atheism,  or 
upon  the  ignoring  of  it,  like  non-religious  Positivism.  Tho 
question  which  we  have  now  to  answer  concerns  the  exist- 
ence of  a  limited  personal  God,  who  is  possessed  of  a  quasi- 
human  consciousness,  from  whose  quasi-human  volitions 
have  originated  the  laws  of  nature,  and  to  whose  quasi- 
human  contrivance  are  due  the  manifold  harmonies  observed 
in  the  universe.     Is  this  most  refined  and  subtilized  remnant 


378  COSMIC  PEILOSOFHY.  [pt.  hi 

of  primitive  anthropomorphism  to  be  retained  hy  our  Cosmic 
Philosophy,  or  is  it  to  be  rejected  ?     And  if  it  is  to  be  re- 
jected, what  are  the  grounds  which  justify  us  in  rejecting  it? 
Let  us  not  forget,  in  stating  the  question,  that  we  are  now 
in  a  region  of  thought  where  absolute  demonstration,  in  the 
scientific  sense,  is  impossible.     I  believe  it  is  beyond  the 
power  of  science  to  prove  that  the  divine  Power  immanent 
in  the  Cosmos  either  does  or  does  not  work  by  anthropo- 
morphic methods.     We  cannot  expect,  therefore,  to  obtain  a 
result  which,  like  a  mathematical  theorem,  shall  stand  firm 
through  mere  weight  of  logic,  or  which,  like  a  theorem  in 
physics,  can  be  subjected  to  a  crucial  test.     We  can  only 
examine   the   arguments  upon  which  the  anthropomorphic 
hypothesis  is  founded,  and  inquire  whether  they  are  of  such 
a  character  as  to  be  convincing  or  satisfactory  to  thinkers 
who  rigidly  adhere  to  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  wdio  assert 
the  relativity  of  knowledge,  and  who  refuse  to  reason  upon 
the  subjective  method.    If,  then,  it  turns  out  that  these  argu- 
ments are  not  thus  satisfactory,  it  will  follow  that,  as  the 
Doctrine  of  Evolution  becomes  more  and  more  widely  under- 
stood and  accepted,  the  anthropomorphic  hypothesis  will  gene- 
rally fall  into  discredit,  not  because  it  will  have  been  disproved, 
but  because  there  will  be  no  sufficient  warrant  for  main- 
taining it.     Or — to  restate  the  case — if  the  hypothesis  which 
represents  God  as  working  after  quasi-human  methods  be 
found  harmonious  with  the  scientific  truths  upon  which  our 
Cosmic  Philosophy  rests,  it  may  survive  the  complete  estab- 
lishment of  that  philosophy ;  but  if  otherwise,  it  will  perish, 
as  other  doctrines  have  perished,  through  lack  of  the  mental 
predisposition  to  accept  it.     It  is,  indeed,  generally  true  that 
theories  concerning  the  supernatural  perish,  not  from  extra- 
neous violence,  but  from  inanition.^    The  belief  in  witchcraft, 

^  *Ce  n'est  pas  d'un  raisonnement,  mais  de  tout  I'ensemble  des  science! 
modernes  que  sortcet  immense  resultat — il  n'y  a  pas  de  surnaturel." — E«Qaii 
Etudes  d'Uistoire  Religieuse,  p.  206. 


«H.  I.]  THJE  QUESTION  RESTATED.  379 

or  the  physical  intervention  of  the  Devil  in  human  affairs,  ia 
now  lauglied  at;  yet  two  centuries  have  hardly  elapsed  since 
it  was  held  by  learned  and  sensible  men,  as  an  essential  part 
of  Christianity.  It  was  supported  by  an  immense  amount 
of  testimony,  which  no  one  has  ever  refuted  in  detail.  No 
one,  for  example,  has  ever  disproved  witchcraft,  as  Young 
disproved  the  corpuscular  theory  of  light.  But  the  belief 
has  died  out  because  scientific  cultivation  has  rendered  the 
mental  soil  unfit  for  it.  The  contemporaries  of  Bodin  were 
so  thoroughly  predisposed  by  their  general  theory  of  things 
to  believe  in  the  continual  intervention  of  the  Devil,  that  it 
needed  but  the  slightest  evidence  to  make  them  credit  any 
particular  act  of  intervention.  But  to  the  educated  man  of 
to-day  such  intervention  seems  too  improbable  to  be  admitted 
on  any  amount  of  testimony.  The  hypothesis  of  diabolic  in- 
terference is  simply  ruled  out ;  and  will  remain  rviled  out.  So 
with  what  is  called  "  spiritualism,"  or  the  belief  in  the  physical 
intervention  of  the  souls  of  the  dead  in  human  affairs.  Men 
of  science  decline  to  waste  their  time  in  arguing  against  it, 
because  they  know  that  the  only  way  in  which  to  destroy  it 
\s  to  educate  people  in  science.  "  Spiritualism  "  is  simply 
one  of  the  weeds  which  spring  up  in  minds  uncultivated  by 
science.  There  is  little  use  in  merely  pulling  up  one  form 
of  the  superstition  by  the  roots,  for  another  form,  equally 
noxious,  is  sure  to  take  root :  the  only  way  of  ensuring  the 
destruction  of  the  pests  is  to  sow  the  seeds  of  scientific  truth. 
"When,  therefore,  we  are  gravely  told  what  persons  of  un- 
vloubted  veracity  have  seen,  we  are  affected  about  as  much  as 
if  a  friend  should  come  in  and  assure  us,  upon  his  honour  as 
a  gentleman,  that  heat  is  not  a  mode  of  motion.  The  case  is 
the  same  with  the  belief  in  miracles,  or  the  physical  inter- 
vention of  the  Deity  in  human  affairs.  To  the  theologian 
such  intervention  is  a  priori  so  probable  that  he  needs  but 
slight  historic  testimony  to  make  him  believe  in  it.  To  the 
scientific  thinker  it  is  d  jpriori  so  improbable  that  no  amount 


380  COSMIC  FBILOSOFMY,  [pt.  ni. 

of  historic  testimony,  such  as  can  be  produced,  suffices  to 
make  him  entertain  the  hypothesis  for  an  instant.  Hence  it 
is  that  such  critics  as  Strauss  and  Eenan,  to  the  great  disgust 
of  theologians,  always  assume,  prior  to  argument,  that  mira- 
culous narratives  are  legendary.  Hence  it  is  that  when  the 
slowly  dying  belief  in  miracles  finally  perishes,  it  will  not  be 
because  any  one  will  ever  have  refuted  it  by  an  array  of 
syllogisms  :  the  syllogisms  of  the  theologian  and  those  of  the 
thinker  trained  in  science  have  no  convincing  power  as 
against  each  other,  because  neither  accepts  the  major  premise 
of  the  other :  but  it  will  be  because  the  belief  is  discordant 
with  the  mental  habits  induced  by  the  general  study  of 
science.  Hence  it  is  that  the  scientific  philosopher  is  averse 
to  proselytism,  and  has  no  sympathy  with  radical  infidelity. 
For  he  knows  that  theological  habits  of  thought  are  relatively 
useful,  while  scepticism,  if  permanent,  is  intellectually  and 
morally  pernicious.  Knowing  this,  he  knows  that  the  only 
way  to  destroy  theological  habits  of  thought  without  detri- 
ment, is  to  nurture  scientific  habits, — which  stifle  the  former, 
as  surely  as  clover  stifles  weeds. 

The  belief  that  God  works  after  quasi-human  methods  is 
akin  to  those  just  cited,  in  being  incapable  of  proof  or  dis- 
proof by  mere  syllogism.  Our  business  is  only  to  determine 
whether  the  arguments  in  favour  of  it  are  calculated  to  con- 
vince those  who  insist  upon  the  relativity  of  all  knowledge, 
and  whether  the  belief  itself  can  be  made  to  harmonize  with 
the  scientific  truths  upon  which  our  Cosmic  Philosophy  is 
based.  Let  us  begin  by  examining  the  doctrine  of  final 
causes,  as  defended  by  metaphysical  arguments ;  and  let  us 
afterwards  observe  how  this  famous  argument  from  design  ia 
affected  by  the  theory  of  evolution. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ANTHROPOMORPHIC  THEISM. 

Though  the  medijeval  conception  of  an  arbitrary  Provi- 
dence, overruling  natural  laws  and  occasionally  setting  them 
aside,  influenced  by  human  petitions  to  bring  about  special 
results  by  extraordinary  means,  and  singling  out  nations  or 
individuals  as  the  objects  of  its  favour  or  displeasure,  has 
been  partially  abandoned  for  a  more  refined  conception  of 
theism,  in  which  the  Deity  is  represented  as  working  through 
natural  laws ;  yet  the  survival  of  the  doctrine  of  final  causes 
shows  that  a  strong  element  of  anthropomorphism  is  retained 
even  in  the  latter  conception.  The  doctrine  of  final  causes 
ultimately  reposes  on  the  assumption  that  God  entertains 
intentions  and  purposes  closely  resembling  in  kind,  though 
greatly  excelling  in  degree  of  sagacity,  the  purposes  and 
intentiens  of  man.  In  accordance  with  this  view,  we  are 
f;old  that  it  will  not  do  to  content  ourselves  with  the  dis- 
lovery  of  Law,  but  that  we  must  also  look  about  for  indica- 
tions of  Purpose  ;  since  Law  is  not,  relatively  to  our  human 
understanding,  an  ultimate  fact,  but  may  be  recognized  by  ua 
as  the  expression  of  the  will  of  a  Lawgiver.  Everything 
that  exists — it  is  said — has  been  created  to  subserve  some 
design,  and  as  a  means  to  the  accomplishment  of  some  end; 
and  the  detection  of  this  end,  the  penetration  of  this  design 


382  COSMIC  PHILOSOPnY.  [it.  iir. 

must  assist  us  greatly  in  the  scientific  study  of  the  universe. 
Not  onl}^  must  we  inquire,  with  Sokrates,  into  the  divine 
purposes  subserved  by  the  structure  of  the  eyes  and  the 
position  of  the  alimentary  canal  ;^  but  we  shall  also  find  it 
desirable  to  interpret  the  design  exhibited  in  the  inclinations 
of  the  planetary  axes  ;  and  our  knowledge  of  chemistry  must 
be  deemed  incomplete  until  we  have  ascertained  the  creative 
plan  in  the  arrangement  of  combining  equivalents.^  Not 
only  will  light  thus  be  thrown  upon  many  facts  which  would 
else  have  remained  for  ever  wrapped  in  impenetrable  dark- 
ness ;  but  the  mere  recognition  of  an  anthropomorphic 
purpose  or  providence  in  the  constitution  of  things  is  said  tc 
afford  unfailing  consolation  amid  perplexity  and  suffering. 
He  who  cherishes  the  belief  in  the  conscious  supervision  of 
a  personal  Deity  is  held  to  possess  the  surest  of  safeguards 
against  scepticism  and  despair. 

A  hypothesis  which  holds  out  such  brilliant  hopes  may 
well  be  retained  in  our  Cosmic  Philosophy,  if  it  can  be  shown 
to  be  in  harmony  with  the  demonstrated  scientific  truths 
upon  which  that  philosophy  rests.  But  if  this  cannot  be 
done,  then  the  hypothesis  must  be  discarded,  even  though  it 
should  carry  with  it  all  our  hopes  and  wishes  in  indiscriminate 
ruin.  It  has  been  well  said  that  "we  must  follow  Truth, 
though  she  lead  us  to  Hades."  The  noble  quest  in  which 
Science  engages  is  the  quest,  not  of  faith  or  of  consolation, 
but  of  truth ;  and,  with  the  scientific  philosopher,  loyalty  to 
truth  is  the  first  principle  of  religion.  The  disagreeableness 
of  a  well-supported  conclusion  furnishes  no  sort  of  justifica- 
tion for  not  accepting  it,  save  to  those  minds  which  are 
irreligious  as  well  as  unscientific     He  who  is  loyal  to  Truth 

^  Xenophon,  Memorabilia,  i.  4.  §  6. 

^  "The  inorganic  world,  considered  in  the  same  Wv^t,  would  not  fail  to 
exhibit  unexpected  evidences  of  thought,  in  the  character  of  the  laws  regu- 
lating chemical  combinations,  the  action  of  physical  forces,  the  universal 
attraction,  etc.  Even  the  history  of  human  culture  ought  to  be  iuvestigateij 
from  this  point  of  view."— Agassiz,  Essay  on  Classification,  p.  199. 


CH.  II.]  ANTHROPOMOErHIC  THEISM.  383 

will  never  liarboiir  the  misgiving  that  her  paths  may  lead  to 
Hades  :  he  will  fearlessly  loUow  the  guidance  of  Science,  never 
doubting  tliat  consolation  must  come  of  knowing  the  truth. 
In  the  present  case  we  shall  find  reason  to  conclude  that  the 
hypothesis  of  a  quasi-human  God  is  likely  to  aggravate 
rather  than  to  relieve  the  mental  distress  of  scepticism. 

The  doctrine  of  final  causes  we  may  first  contemplate,  for 
1  moment,  under  its  logical  aspect,  and  notice  that,  even  if  it 
were  true,  it  could  never  have  the  value  which  is  claimed  for 
it  as  a  means  of  investigation.  Even  admitting  that  all 
things  have  been  created  with  forethought,  and  that  the 
harmonious  cooperation  of  phenomena  is  the  fruit  of  con- 
trivance, it  is  none  the  less  undeniable  that  this  forethought 
cannot  be  perceived,  the  threads  of  tliis  contrivance  cannot 
be  unravelled  by  us,  until  the  laws  to  which  phenomena 
conform  have  already  been  discovered.  Previous  to  Newton, 
for  instance,  all  attempts  to  detect  design  in  the  structure  oi 
the  solar  system  must  have  shared  the  fate  of  the  quite 
different  guesses  of  Descartes  and  others  as  to  its  physical 
conditions.  Evidences  of  design,  therefore,  in  order  to  be 
trustworthy,  must  be  deduced  from  known  laws,  and  cannot 
safely  be  employed  as  stepping-stones  to  the  discovery  of  new 
truths.  However  plausible  they  may  seem  as  corollaries, 
they  can  never  be  useful  as  lemmas  or  postulates.  As  M. 
Scherer  well  observes,  God  is  the  cause  of  all  things,  but  the 
explanation  of  nothing.^  Accordingly  unless  we  are  so 
arrogant  as  to  lay  claim  to  the  possession  of  some   direct 

*  **  Dieu,  comme  on  I'a  trfes-Viien  dit,  est  la  cause  de  tout,  mais  il  n'est  ex* 
jJicatiou  de  rieu."  Scherer.  Nouvelles  Etudes  sur  la  LilUratura  Contevipo- 
ruine,  p.  408.  See  also  Geoffrey  Saint-Hilaire,  Anomalies  de  V Onjanisation, 
torn.  iii.  p.  608.  The  only  objection  which  can  be  made  to  M.  Scherer's 
statement  is  its  disjunctive  form.  Obviously  that  which  is  the  cause  of 
everj'thing  cannot  be  the  explanation  of  anything.  AVe  cannot  explain  any 
particular  group  of  phenomena  by  a  reference  to  divine  action,  because  such 
a  reference  is  merely  a  reference  to  the  source  of  all  phenomena  alike,  and 
hence  cannot  give  us  specific  information  concerning  any  paiticular  group. 
Laplace  was  therefore  quite  justified  in  saying  *' Je  n'ai  pas  besoin  de  cett« 
typoili^se." 


384  COSMIC  FHILOSOPEY.  [px.  in. 

means  of  insight  into  the  Divine  purposes,^  what  is  left  for 
us  but  to  content  ourselves  with  the  humbler  means  of 
research  lying  everywhere  at  our  disposal — with  being 
"servants  and  interpreters  of  nature,"  as  the  great  master 
of  inductive  inquiry  so  wisely  and  modestly  said? 

Not  only  does  the  teleological  theory  thus  appear  to  be 
useless,  from  a  scientific  point  of  view,  but  its  claim  to 
philosophic  validity  is  open  to  serious  doubt.  Looking  at 
it  historically,  we  observe  that  its  career  has  been  that  of 
a  perishable  hypothesis  born  of  primeval  habits  of  thought, 
rather  than  that  of  a  permanent  doctrine  obtained  by  the 
employment  of  scientific  methods.  From  time  to  time,  with 
the  steady  advance  of  knowledge,  the  search  for  final  causes 
has  been  discarded  in  the  simpler  sciences,  until  it  is  now 
kept  up  only  in  the  complex  and  difficult  branches  of 
biology  and  sociology.  As  Laplace  observes,  final  causes 
disappear  as  soon  as  we  obtain  the  data  requisite  for  resolv- 
ing problems  scientifically.  Even  Dr.  Whewell,  the  great 
champion  of  the  teleological  method  in  our  day,  admits  that 
it  must  not  be  applied  to  the  inorganic  sciences  ;  which 
amounts  to  the  confession  that,  wherever  we  know  enough, 
we  can  very  well  do  without  it.^  Creative  design,  however, 
if  manifested  at  all,  is  probably  not  confined  to  a  limited 
department  of  nature ;  and  therefore  the  rejection  of  teleology 

^  As  Descartes  somewliere  says,  "  Nous  rejetterous  entierement  de  notre 
philosopWe  la  recherche  des  causes  finales  ;  car  nous  ne  devons  pas  tant  pre- 
Bumer  de  nous-memes  que  de  croire  que  Dieu  nous  ait  voulu  faire  part  de  ses 
conseils." 

3  Laplace,  Essai  sur  Us  ProldMlifis,  p.  87  ;  Whewell,  History  of  the  In- 
ductive Sciences,  vol.  iii.  p.  430.  Even  in  biology  the  principle  does  not 
always  work  well : — *'  A  final  purpose  is  indeed  readily  perceived  and  ad- 
mitted in  regard  to  the  multiplied  points  of  ossification  in  the  skull  of  the 
human  fcetus  and  their  relation  to  safe  parturition.  But  when  we  find  that 
the  same  ossific  centres  are  established,  and  in  similar  order,  in  the  skull  ol 
the  embryo  kangaroo,  which  is  born  when  an  inch  in  length,  and  in  that  of 
the  callow  bird  that  breaks  the  brittle  egg,  we  feel  the  truth  of  Bacon's  com« 
parison  of  final  causes  to  the  Vestal  Virgins."  Owen,  The  N'nture  of  Limbs, 
p.  39.  Or,  as  Prof.  Huxley  very  happily  observes,  they  "  might  be  more  fitly 
teiTued  the  hetairce  of  pliilosophy,  eo  constantly  have  they  led  men  astray. 
Lay  Semums.  v.  255. 


CH.  11.]  ANTEBOPOMORPEIG  TEEISM.  S8& 

by  the  most  advanced  sciences  augurs  ill  for  its  ultimate 
chances  of  survival  in  any  field  of  inquiry.     Previous  to  the 
researches  of  Kant  and  Laplace,  such   phenomena  as   the 
distribution  of  satellites  and  the  inchnations  of  planetary 
axes    were    explained    teleologically.       These    phenom'ena 
having  been  at  last  interpreted  by  a  reference  to  universal 
laws  of  matter  and  motion,  the  teleological  hypothesis  took 
refuge  in  biology,  where  it  held  for  a  while  a 'doubtful  tenure, 
as  a  means  of  explaining  the  origination  of  specific  forms  of 
life.     The  discoveries  of  Mr.  Darwin  having  gone  far  toward 
driving  it  from  this  stronghold,  replacing  the  conception  of 
miraculous  interjaosition  by  the  conception  of  natural  selec- 
tion, it  is  nevertheless  still  appealed  to  by  such  writers  as 
Mr.  "Wallace  and  Mr.  Mivart,  as  furnishing  an  explanation 
for  sundry  phenomena  of  organic  evolution  which  natural 
selection,  taken  alone,  seems  at  present  incompetent  to  ac- 
count for.     In  short,  the  teleological  hypothesis  derives  its 
apparent  confirmation  never  from  the  phenomena  which  were 
explained  yesterday,  but  always  from  the  phenomena  which 
are  awaiting  an  explanation  to-morrow.     "I  give  up  pheno- 
menon A,"  says  the  theologian,  "  for  that  you  have  explained 
in  terms  of  matter  and  motion  ;  but  phenomenon  B  you  can 
never  so  explain,  and  upon  that  I  therefore  rest  my  teleolo- 
gical hypothesis."     To-mcrrow  phenomenon  B  is  interpreted 
in  terms  of  matter  and  motion,  and  appeal  is  made  to  pheno- 
menon C ;  and  so  on,  to  the  end  of  the  alphabet.     Now  the 
cosmic  conception  of  Deity,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see,  being 
planted  in  the  region  of  the  Unknowable,    which  is  coex- 
tensive with  that  of  the  Knowable,  has  no  such  precarious 
tenure,  and  all  that  the  progress  of  discovery  can  do  is  to 
enlarge  and  strengthen  it.     Ihit  the  anthropomorphic  con- 
ception, lodged  in  that  ever  diminishing  area  of  the  Knowable 
which  is  to-day  unknov.-n,  is  driven  from  outpost  to  outpost, 
and  robbed  of  som^  part  of  i*^s  jurisdiction  by  every  advance 
of  science.     Surely  that  must  be  an  unworthy  conception  of 
VOL.  n.  0  0 


S86  COSMIC  FHIL0S0F37.  [pt.  hi. 

Deity  which  ir,  confessedly  based  on  those  limitations  alone 
of  finite  phenomenal  knowledge,  which  each  day's  experience 
proves  more  and  more  clearly  to  be  but  temporary.  Suiely 
the  teleological  hypothesis  is  built  upon  a  rotten  foundation, 
when  it  has  to  dread  the  shock  of  each  advancing  wave  of 
knowledge.  Surely  it  is  no  less  irreverent  than  unphiloso- 
phical  to  rest  our  faith  in  God's  existence  upon  the  alleged 
impossibility  of  interpreting  in  terms  of  matter  and  motion 
the  beginnings  of  life,  the  cross-relations  between  marsupials 
and  monodelphia,  or  the  structure  of  the  ears  and  eyes  of  a 
cephalopod. 

Further  to  develope  this  argument  would  be  premature,  in 
the  absence  of  explanations  to  be  given  in  the  next  chapter. 
Contenting  ourselves  for  the  present  with  this  brief  indica- 
tion, let  us  now  approach  the  subject  somewhat  more  closely, 
and  examine  certain  metaphysical  arguments  upon  which  it 
has  lately  been  sought  to  base  an  elaborate  teleological 
theory.  The  "  Inquiry  into  the  Theories  of  History,"  by 
Mr.  William  Adam,  presents  us  with  what  is  probably  the 
last  form  of  the  attempt  to  carry  on  scientific  research  by 
theological  methods,  and  two  or  three  of  its  arguments  may 
here  be  fitly  noticed,  as  typical  of  the  entire  class  to  which 
they  belong. 

Mr.  Adam  accepts,  with  some  qualifications,  the  doctrine 
of  Descartes  and  Spinoza,  that  causes  resemble  their  effects. 
He  holds  that  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  causes  re- 
spectively resemble  their  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral 
effects ;  and  hence  infers  that  the  Deity,  as  a  moral  and 
intellectual  cause,  must  resemble  the  effect  Man  —  must 
therefore  purpose,  contrive,  and  exert  volition.  The  con 
elusion  would  have  more  weight,  were  it  not  so  manifestly 
begged  in  the  premise.  Next,  even  in  this  modified  shape, 
the  rule  that  causes  resemble  their  effects  is  hampered  by 
awkward  exceptions,  in  dealing  with  which  Mr.  Adam  has 
lot  been  fortunate.     Assuming,  for  example,  that  heat  is  the 


:«.  II.]  ANTRROPOMORPHIG  THEISM.  387 

cause  of  sieam,  he  maintains  the  likeness  of  the  cause 
to  its  effect,  on  the  ground  that  both  are  in  a  state  of 
moleculai'  agitation  !  The  mental  confusion  which  resulted 
in  this  extraordinary  statement,  is  still  more  explicitly  re- 
vealed in  the  assertion  that  "  heat  is  like  steam,  as  being 
both  physical  objects."  So,  then,  we  get  some  conception  ol 
the  kind  of  science  with  which  anthropomorphism  is  prac- 
tically compatible.  Heat,  it  seeins,  is  a  physical  object  in 
a  state  of  molecular  agitation  !  ]  The  ordinary  physicist  will 
certainly  object  that  heat,  being  the  state  of  molecular  agi- 
tation, can  hardly  be  called,  with  propriety,  the  physical 
object.  And  the  logician  will  add  that,  even  if  it  could  be 
so  called,  an  argument  would  hardly  be  thought  convincing 
which  should  rest  upon  the  alleged  resemblance  of  a  billiard- 
table  to  a  rhinoceros — yet  these  are  both  physical  objects. 
Mr,  Adam  is  equally  unhappy  in  his  answer  to  Mr.  Mill's 
humorous  criticism  of  Descartes.  Parodying  the  celebrated 
maxim, — Si  enimponamus  aliquid  in  idea  repcriri  quod  non 
fuerit  in  ejus  causa,  lioc  igitur  hahet  a  nihil o,  Mr.  Mill 
observes  that  "  if  there  be  pepper  in  the  soup,  there  must  be 
pepper  in  the  cook  who  made  it,  since  otherwise  the  pepper 
would  be  without  a  cause."  Mr.  Adam's  reply  savours 
strongly  of  mediaeval  realism.  The  cook,  he  says,  is  not 
indeed  the  efficient  cause  of  the  pejDper,  but  the  cook's 
intelligence  is  the  efficient  cause  of  the  intelligence  displayed 
in  the  mixture  of  the  ingredients  of  the  soup — so  thac  even 
here  the  cause  is  like  the  effect !  Comment  is  not  needed. 
Human  ingenuity  is  indeed  pushed  to  the  limit  of  its 
tether,  when  by  a  play  upon  words  it  tries  to  liken  a 
physical  combination  of  salt,  pepper,  and  meat-juice  to  an 
intellectual  coordination  of  experiences. 

Apart  from  these  ill-chosen  and  ill-managed  examples, 
the  Cartesian  argument,  as  modified  by  Mr.  Adam,  appears 
to  stand  as  follows: — Wlien  a  physical  event,  such  as  the 
pulling  of  a  trigger,  is  followed  by  aiioiher  physical  event 

c  c  2 


388  COSMIC  FHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  iil 

such  as  the  firing  of  a  pistol,  the  antecedent  resembles  the 
consequent,  since  both  are  physical  events.  When  an  in- 
tellectual event,  such  as  the  rising  into  consciousness  of  the 
idea  of  Hamlet,  is  followed  by  another  intellectual  event, 
such  as  the  ideal  representation  of  a  crowded  theatre,  the 
antecedent  resembles  the  consequent,  since  both  are  intel- 
lectual events.  When  a  moral  event,  such  as  a  fit  of  un- 
governable passion,  is  followed  by  another  moral  event,  such 
as  a  bitter  sense  of  remorse,  the  antecedent  is  like  the 
consequent,  since  both  are  moral  events.  Therefore  the 
primal  Cause,  antecedent  to  the  whole  compound  series  of 
intellectual  and  moral  events,  must  be  intellectual  and 
moral  in  its  nature. 

Underneath  this  whole  argument  there  lies  an  ill-concealed 
fetitio  principii.     Three  parallel   lines  of    causal  sequence 
being  set  up,  it  is  unwarrantably  assumed  that  causal  rela- 
tions hold  only  between  the  successive   members  of   each 
separate  series,  or  in  other  words,  that  there  are  no  causal 
relations  between  the  members  of  one  series  and  the  members 
of  another.     A  single  instance  of  causal  relation  ])etween  a 
material   event  and   an    intellectual   or   emotional   event — 
auch  as  the  relation  between  certain  atmospheric  undulations 
communicated  from  violin-strings  to  the  auditory  nerve,  and 
the  consequent  recognition  of  the  triad  of  A- minor,   with 
the  accompanying  pleasurable  feeling — is  fatal  to  the  argu- 
ment.    Waiving  this  objection,  however,  and  for  the  moment 
admitting  that  the  universe,  as  containing  intellectual  and 
moral  phenomena,  requires  an  intellectual  and  moral  Cause  j 
we  may  note  that  the  argument  proves  altogether  too  much. 
Since  the  universe  contains  material,  as  well  as  psychical 
Dhenomena,  its  First  Cause,  according  to  Mr.  Adam's  argu- 
ment, must  partake  of  all  the  differential  qualities  of  those 
phenomena.     If  it  reasons  and  wills,  like  the  higher  animals, 
it  must  also,  like  minerals,  plants,  and  the  lowest  animals,  bo 
unintelligent  and  unendowed  with  the  power  of  volition,— 


CH.  11.]  ANTHBOPOMOBPHIO  THEISM.  389 

which  requires  in  the  First  Cause  a  more  than  Hegelian 
capacity  for  uniting  contradictory  attributes.  Else  we  must 
suppose  its  causal  action  to  be  confined  to  man,  and  those 
other  animals  which  manifest  intelligence  and  volition, 
while  the  rest  of  the  universe  either  seeks  another  First 
Cause,  or  goes  without  one.  All  these  are  alike  conclusions 
which  philosophy  cannot  for  a  moment  tolerate,  and  which 
are  as  shocking  to  science  as  to  religion. 

A  still  more  fatal  criticism  remains  to  be  made.  Con- 
sidered as  a  modification  of  the  Cartesian  doctrine,  Mr. 
Adam's  theory  is  entirely  illegitimate  :  it  is  the  product  of 
a  gross  misconception  of  the  Cartesian  doctrine.  All  these 
causes  and  effects,  so  carefully  but  unskilfully  compared  by 
Mr.  Adam,  a.ve phenomenal  antecedents  and  consequents;  and 
even  supposing  the  universal  resemblance  of  phenomenal 
causes  to  phenomenal  effects  to  be  fully  made  out,  the  anthro- 
pomorphic argument  is  not  helped  in  the  least.  Until  a 
pJienomenal  effect  can  be  brought  into  juxtaposition  and 
compared  with  its  noumenal  cause,  the  argument  *has  no 
logical  validity;  but,  because  of  the  relativity  of  all  know- 
ledge, this  can  never  be  done.  To  call  the  First  Cause  a 
phenomenon  is  to  make  a  statement  that  is  self-contradictory; 
since  phenomena  exist  only  by  virtue  of  their  relation  t© 
human  (or  animal)  consciousness.  The  First  Cause  being 
absolute  and  infinite,  is  a  noumenon,  and  no  amount  of 
resemblance,  alleged  or  proved,  between  various  orders  of 
its  phenomenal  effects,  can  bear  witness  to  any  resemblance 
between  a  phenomenal  effect  and  the  noumenal  Cause.  The 
phenomena  of  motion,  for  example,  exist  as  phenomena  only 
in  so  far  as  they  are  cognized ;  and  the  very  constitution  of 
the  thinking  process  renders  it  impossible  for  us  to  assert 
similarity  between  the  phenomenon  and  the  thing  in  itself. 
Indeed  a  comparison  between  the  various  phenomena  of 
motion  gives  us  good  ground  for  believing  that  there  can  be 
no  eucli  thing  as  resemblance  between  the  phenomena  and 


390  COSMIC  PMILOSOFEY.  [rr.  ill. 

their  noumenal  cause.  At  the  beginning  of  this  work  it  was 
shown  that  the  objective  reality  imderlying  the  phenomena 
of  heat,  light,  actinism,  and  mechanical  vibration,  cannot  be 
held  to  resemble  one  of  these  sets  of  phenomena  more  than 
another,  and  accordingly  cannot  be  held  to  resemble  any  of 
them.  And  this  conclusion,  thus  forced  upon  us  by  concrete 
examples,  is  the  only  one  consistent  with  what  we  know  of 
knowledge.  Obviously  the  phenomena  cannot  be  held  to  be 
like  the  objective  reality  without  ignoring  the  circumstance 
that  the  mind  is  itself  a  factor  in  the  process  of  cognition. 
Now  the  Cartesians,  with  more  insight  into  the  exigencies  of 
the  case  than  is  shown  by  Mr.  Adam,  unflinchingly  asserted 
that  phenomenal  effects  are  like  noumenal  causes, — that 
whatever  is  in  the  subjective  conception  is  also  in  the 
objective  reality.  As  a  proposition  in  psychology,  this  is  a 
denial  of  the  relativity  of  knowledge.  As  a  canon  of  logic, 
this  is  the  proclamation  of  the  subjective  method.  Hence, 
though  the  metaphysician  and  the  theologian  may  adopt  an 
anthropomorphic  hypothesis  founded  upon  such  an  argument, 
it  is  impossible  for  a  scientific  philosopher  to  do  so. 

The  attempt  to  establish  the  anthropomorphic  hypothesis 
by  means  of  the  volitional  theory  of  causation  is,  from  the 
scientific  point  of  view,  equally  futile.  From  first  to  last,  as 
Tas  fully  demonstrated  in  the  chapter  on  Causation,  the 
argument  of  the  volitionists  is  made  up  of  pure  assumptions, 
j'rom  the  unwarranted  ontological  postulate  that  \\'ill  is  a 
noumenal  or  efficient  cause  of  muscular  action  in  animals, 
it  proceeds,  by  a  flagrant  non  scquitur,  to  the  equally  un- 
warranted conclusion  that  Will  is  the  noumenal  or  efficient 
cause  of  all  the  dynamic  phenomena  of  the  universe,  and 
must  therefore  be  the  First  Cause.  Volition  being  asserted 
to  be  the  only  source  whence  motion  can  originate,  it  is 
affirmed  that,  save  on  the  hypothesis  of  a  Supreme  Will,  the 
activity  of  nature  baffles  comprehension.  The  rej^ly  of  the 
scientific  critic  is  that,  in  an  ultimate  analysis,  the  activity 


OH.  II.]  ANT3B0P0M0RPHIG  THEISM,  301 

of  nature  doc^,  and  must  ever,  baffle  comprehension ;  and 
that,  upon  any  hypothesis  frameable  by  our  intelligence, 
whether  theistic  or  non-theistic,  the  origination  of  motion 
must  remain  not  only  incomprehensible  but  inconceivable. 
Relatively  to  our  finite  power  of  apprehension,  motion  is  to  be 
regarded,  like  matter,  as  eternal.^  The  unthinkableness  of 
the  creation  or  destruction  of  matter  or  motion  is  involved 
in  the  axiom  that  force  is  persistent,  which  is  the  funda- 
mental axiom  of  all  science  and  of  Cosmic  Philosophy. 
"Whether  motion,  considered  apart  from  our  power  of  appre- 
hension, ever  had  a  beginning  or  not,  is  a  question  whioh 
cannot  concern  us  as  scientific  thinkers.  To  assert  that  it 
had,  is  to  put  into  words  a  hypothesis  that  cannot  be 
translated  into  thought,  and  to  assume  Volition  as  its  primal 
antecedent,  is  to  frame  an  additional  hypothesis  that  is 
essentially  unverifiable.  Phenomenally  we  know  of  Will 
only  as  the  cause  of  certain  limited  and  very  peculiar  kinds 
of  activity  displayed  by  the  nerves  and  muscles  of  the 
higher  animals.  And  to  argue  from  this  that  all  other 
kinds  of  activity  are  equally  caused  by  Will,  simply  be- 
cause the  primal  origination  of  motion  is  otherwise  inex- 
plicable, is  as  monstrous  a  stretch  of  assumption  as  can  well 
be  imagined.  While  to  contend — as  many  have  done — that 
because  human  volitions  are  attended  by  a  sensation  of 
effort,  there  is  therefore  effort  in  each  case  of  causation,  is 
much  like  identifying  gravitative  force  with  the  sensation 
of  weight  by  which  the  attempt  to  overcome  it  is  always 
accompai 


)anied.^ 


*  Or — to  state  the  same  thing  in  another  form — the  possibilities  of  tiioiiglit 
are  limited  by  experience  ;  and  experience  furnishes  no  data  for  enabling  ns 
to  conceive  a  time,  either  past  or  future,  when  the  Unknowable  would  be 
objectively  manifested  to  consciousness  otherwise  than  in  movements  of 
matter.  But  this,  it  should  be  remembered,  applies  solely  to  our  powers  of 
conception.  Thought  is  not  the  measure  of  things,  and  where  the  region  of 
experience  is  transcended,  the  test  of  inconceivability  becomes  inapplicatie 
Bee  above,  vol.  i.  p.  11. 

■  tiee  above,  vol.  i  p.  167. 


392  COSMIO  FHILOSOPHY,  [w.  m. 

The  last  of  tlie  d  priori  arguments  which  it  is  necessary 
to  notice  iu  this  connection,  is  that  which  infers  the  exist- 
ence of  an  intelligent  Lawgiver  from  the  omnipresence  of 
Law.  "The  proofs  of  necessary  law  and  of  an  intelligent 
will  ....  remain  undeniable,"  says  Mr.  Adam,  "  and  no 
hardihood  of  assertion  can  annul  them ;  and  when  an  at- 
tempt is  made  to  bring  both  into  logical  connection,  the 
mind,  not  only  without  violence  to  its  powers,  but  on  the 
contrary  with  a  clear  perception  of  necessary  congruity, 
believes  that  law  must  proceed  from  a  lawgiver,  beneficent 
laws  from  a  moral  ruler.  To  disjoin  an  intelligent  will  from 
necessary  law  is  to  shake  our  confidence  in  the  perpetuity 
and  salutary  operation  of  law  itself.  The  conception  of  law 
without  will  is  that  of  agency  without  an  agent :  the  con- 
ception of  will  without  law  is  that  of  an  agent  without  agency. 
Necessary  law  is  the  constant  expression  of  the  divine  will." 
Upon  this  point  Mr.  Adam  repeatedly  insists  in  the  course 
of  his  work,^  asserting  again  and  again  that,  without  admit- 
ting "  this  great  central  conception  of  a  Supreme  Will,"  the 
laws  of  nature  must  for  ever  remain  unintelligible.  Let  us 
not  fail  to  note  that  Mr.  Adam's  conception  of  theism,  as 
here  illustrated,  is  far  more  refined,  and  far  less  hostile  to 
scientific  inquiry,  than  the  conception  of  theism  embodied  in 
the  accepted  creeds  of  theologians,  and  officially  defended 
from  the  pulpit.  Those  who  adopt  jVIr.  Adam's  conception 
will,  if  consistent,  welcome,  instead  of  opposing,  every  scien- 
tific interpretation  of  phenomena  hitherto  deemed  super- 
natural ;  since,  in  the  above  passage,  God  is  clearly  re^iarded 
as  manifesting  himself  in  order  and  not  in  disorder,  in 
method  and  not  in  caprice,  in  law  and  not  in  miracle.  With 
this  view  our  Cosmic  Philosophy  thoroughly  coincides ;  and, 
eliminating  the  anthropomorphism  from  Mr.  Adam's  state- 
ment, I,  for  one,  will  heartily  join  in  the  assertion  that 

1  Adam,  Theories  of  History,  pp.  92.  130,  180,  189,  209,  222,  281,  284^ 
iOl.     The  passage  just  cited  is  to  be  louud  on  p.  192. 


CH.  n.J  ANTHROPOMOliPMIO  THEISM.  393 

"necessary  law  is  the  constant  expression  of  the  divine 
working."  But  the  connection  asserted  between  universal 
law  and  a  supreme  quasi-human  Will,  is  one  which  a  scien- 
tific philosophy  cannot  admit,  for  it  rests  upon  a  mere  verbal 
equivocation.  The  inference  from  community  of  name  to 
community  of  nature,  however  appropriate  it  might  have 
seemed  to  the  realists  of  the  twelfth  century,  is  in  our  day 
bardly  admissible.  Because  the  word  "  law "  is  used  to 
describe  alike  the  generalizations  of  Kepler  and  the  statutes 
enacted  by  a  legislative  body,  we  must  not  infer,  with  a 
naivete  worthy  of  the  schoolmen,  that  whatever  is  true  of 
the  one  will  always  be  true  of  the  other.  That  the  laws  of 
Justinian  emanated  from  a  lawgiver  is  no  reason  for  believing 
the  same  to  have  been  the  case  with  the  law  of  gravitation ; 
for  the  former  were  edicts  enjoining  obedience,  while  the 
latter  is  but  a  generalized  expression  of  the  manner  in  which 
certain  phenomena  occur.  A  law  of  nature,  as  formulated 
in  a  scientific  treatise,  is  a  statement  of  facts,  and  nothing 
more.  Expressed  in  the  indicative  mood,  it  has  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  imperative.  Science  knows  nothing 
of  a  celestial  Ukase  compelling  the  earth  to  gravitate  toward 
the  sun.  We  know  that  it  does  so  gravitate  with  a  certain 
'ntensity,  and  that  is  the  whole  story.  Nevertheless,  so 
trong  is  the  realistic  tendency  that,  in  speaking  of  laws  of 
nature,  the  most  careful  writers  too  seldom  avoid  "a  tacit 
reference  to  the  original  sense  of  the  word  lav),  .  .  .  the 
expression  of  the  will  of  a  superior."  ^  Indeed,  it  is  imme- 
diately after  defining  a  law  as  "  a  general  name  for  certain 
phenomena  of  the  same  kind,  which  regularly  recur  under 
the  same  circumstances,"  that  Mr.  Adam  alludes  to  "  the 
Supreme  Will  which  subjects  (I)  all  phenomena  to  law,  and 
soUigates  all  laws  into  a  universe  (!)."  Upon  such  a  confusion 
of  ideas,  and  amid  such  a  chaos  of  terminology,  is  this  whole 
argument,  so  far  as  concerns  theism,  unsuspectingly  reared, 
*  Mill,  Sjstcm  of  Lojk,  vol.  i  p.  34S. 


394  COSMIC  FHILOISOPE.Y,  [pt.  hi. 

Strip  tLe  phrase  "law  of  nature"  of  this  inherent  ambiguity, 
substitute  for  it  the  equivalent  phrase,  "  order  of  sequence 
among  certain  phenomena,"  and  the  anthropomorphic  in- 
ference so  confidently  drawn  from  it  at  once  disappears. 

Viewed  in  close  connection  with  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution, 
this  scholastic  argument  from  the  Law  to  the  Lawgiver  lands 
us  amid  strange  and  terrible  embarrassments.  For  what  is  a 
law,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  word  is  used  by  legislators! 
It  is  a  set  of  relations  established  by  the  community,  or  by 
some  superior  mind  representing  and  guiding  the  community, 
in  correspondence  with  certain  environing  circumstances. 
Certain  phenomena  of  crime,  for  example,  tend  to  detract 
from  the  fulness  of  life  of  society,  and  to  balance  these 
phenomena  a  certain  force  of  public  opinion  is  embodied  in 
an  edict  prescribing  due  punishments  for  the  crimes  in 
question.  Or — slightly  to  vary  the  definition  and  make  it 
more  comprehensive — a  law  is  the  embodiment  of  a  certain 
amount  of  psychical  energy,  directed  towards  the  securing  of 
the  highest  attainable  fulness  of  social  life.  Now  if,  on  the 
strength  of  an  ambiguous  terminology,  we  proceed  to  regard 
the  "laws"  of  nature  as  edicts  enjoined  upon  matter  and 
motion  by  a  personal  Euler,  shall  we  also,  as  we  are  logically 
bound  to  do,  carry  with  us  the  conceptions  of  legislation 
with  which  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution  has  supplied  us  ? 
Shall  we  say  that  the  infinite  Deity  adjusts  inner  relations  to 
external  contingencies  ? 

Here  we  come  upon  the  brink  of  the  abyss  into  which  the 
anthropomorphic  hypothesis  must  precipitate  us,  if  instead 
of  passively  acquiescing  in  it  as  a  vague  authoritative 
formula,  we  analyze  it  with  the  scientific  appliances  at  our 
command.  To  those  who  have  acquired  some  mastery  of 
the  physical  truths  upon  which  our  Cosmic  Philosophy  is 
based,  the  doctrine  not  only  ceases  to  be  intellectually  con- 
soling, but  becomes  a  source  of  ungovernable  disturbance. 
For  to  represent  the  Deity  as  a  person  who  thinks,  contrives^ 


CH.  ii.J  ANTHEOPOMOBPEIG  THEISM.  S95 

and  legislates,  is  simply  to  represent  him  as  a  product  oi 
evolution.  The  definition  of  intelligence  being  "  the  con- 
tiniious  adjustment  of  specialized  inner  relations  to  special- 
ized outer  relations,"  it  follows  that  to  represent  the  Deit}) 
as  intelligent  is  to  surround  Deity  with  an  environment,  and 
thus  to  destroy  its  infinity  and  its  self-existence.  The 
eternal  Power  whereof  the  web  of  phenomena  is  but  the 
visible  garment  becomes  degraded  into  a  mere  strand  in  the 
web  of  phenomena;  and  the  Cosmos,  in  exchange  for  the 
loss  of  its  infinite  and  insf^rutable  God,  receives  an  anomalous 
sovereign  of  mythologic  pedigree. 

Nor  can  the  theologian  find  a   ready  avenue  of   escape 
from  these  embarrassments  in  the  assumption  that  there  is 
such   a   thing   as    disembodied    intelligence   which    is   not 
definable  as  a    correspondence   between   an  organism    and 
its  environment,  and  which  is  therefore  not  a  product  ol 
evolution.     Experience  does  not  afford  the  data  for  testing 
such  a  hypothesis,  and  to  meet  it  with  denial  would  accord- 
ingly be  unphiJosophic  in  the  extreme.     That  there  may  bt 
such  a  thing  as  disembodied  or  unembodied  Spirit  will  be 
denied  by  no  one,  save  by  those  shallow  materialists  who 
fancy  that  the  possibilities  of  existence  are  measured  by  the 
narrow  limitations  of  their  petty  knowledge.     But  such  an 
admission  can  be  of  no  use  to  the  theoloaian  in  establishing 
his  teleological  hypothesis.     For  even  granting  the  existence 
oi  such  unembodied  Spirit,  the   moment  we  ascribe  to  it 
intelligence  we  are  using  words  to  which  experience  has 
assigned  definite  meanings,  and  we  are  not  at  liberty  to  play 
fest   and  loose  with  these   meanings.     When  we  speak  of 
■* intelligence,"  we  either  mean  nothing  at  all,  or  we  mean 
that  which  we  know  as  intelligence.     But  that  which  we 
know  as  intelligence  implies  a  circumscribed  and  limited 
form   of   Being   adapting    its   internal    processes   to    other 
processes  going  on  beyond  its  limits.     Save  as  describing 
euch  a  correspondence  between  circumscribed  Being  and  its 


396  COSMIC  FHIL0S0FH7.  [pt.  iil 

environment,  the  word  "  intelligence  "  lias  no  meaning  wliat- 
3ver,  and  to  employ  it  is  simply  to  defy  logic  and  insult 
common-sense.  In  ascribing  intelligence  to  unembodied 
Spirit,  we  are  either  using  meaningless  jargon,  or  we  are 
implicitly  surrounding  unembodied  Spirit  with  an  environ- 
ment of  some  kind,  and  are  thus  declaring  it  to  be  both 
limited  and  dependent.  The  assumption  of  disembodied 
intelligence,  therefore  leaves  the  fundamental  difficulty  quite 
untouched. 

Thus  in  default  of  all  tenable  a  priori  support  for  the 
anthropomorphic  hypothesis,  it  must  be  left  to  rest,  if  it  is  to 
be  entertained  at  all,  upon  its  ancient  inductive  basis.  In 
spite  of  the  difficulties  encompassing  the  conception,  we  may 
fairly  admit  that  if  the  structure  of  the  universe  presents 
unmistakeable  evidences  of  divine  contrivance  or  forethought, 
these  evidences  may  be  received  in  verification  of  the  hypo- 
thesis which  ascribes  to  God  a  quasi-human  nature.  And 
thus  the  possible  establishment  of  that  hypothesis  must 
depend  upon  the  weight  accorded  to  the  so-called  "  evidences 
of  design." 

From  the  dawn  of  philosophic  discussion.  Pagan  and 
Christian,  Trinitarian  and  Deist,  have  appealed  with  equal 
confidence  to  the  harmony  pervading  nature  as  the  surest 
foundation  of  their  faith  in  an  intelligent  and  beneficent 
Euler  of  the  universe.  We  meet  with  the  argument  in  the 
familiar  writings  of  Xenophon  and  Cicero,  and  it  is  forcibly 
and  eloquently  maintained  by  Voltaire  as  well  as  by  Paley, 
and,  with  various  modifications,  by  Agassiz  as  well  as  by  the 
authors  of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises.  One  and  all  they 
challenge  us  to  explain,  on  any  other  hypothesis  than  that  of 
creative  design,  these  manifold  harmonies,  these  exquisite 
adaptations  of  means  to  ends,  whereof  the  world  is  admitted 
to  be  full,  and  which  are  especially  conspicuous  among  the 
phenomena  of  life.  Until  the  establishment  of  the  Doctrine 
of  Evolution,  the  glove  thus  thrown,  age  after  age,  into  the 


en.  II.]  ANTHROPOMORPHIG  THEISM.  391 

arena  of  pliilosophic  controversy,  was  never  triumphantly 
taken  up.  It  was  Mr.  Darwin  m'Iio  first,  by  his  discovery  ol 
natural  selection,  supplied  the  champions  of  science  with  the 
resistless  weapon  by  which  to  vanquish,  in  this  their  chief 
stronghold,  the  champions  of  theology.  And  this  is  doubt- 
less foremost  among  the  causes  of  the  intense  hostility  which 
all  consistent  theologians  feel  towards  Mr.  Darwin.  This 
antagonism  has  been  generated,  not  so  much  by  the  silly 
sentimentalism  which  regards  the  Darwinian  theory  as 
derogatory  to  human  dignity;  not  so  much  by  the  knowledge 
that  the  theory  is  incompatible  with  that  ancient  Hebrew 
cosmogony  which  still  fascinates  the  theological  imagination  ; 
as  by  the  perception,  partly  vague  and  partly  definite,  that 
in  natural  selection  there  has  been  assigned  an  adequate 
cause  for  the  marvellous  phenomena  of  adaptation,  which 
had  formerly  been  regarded  as  clear  proofs  of  beneficent 
creative  contrivance.  It  needs  but  to  take  into  the  account 
the  other  agencies  in  organic  evolution  besides  the  one  so 
admirably  illustrated  by  Mr.  Darwin,  it  needs  but  to  re- 
member that  life  is  essentially  a  process  of  equilibration, 
both  direct  and  indirect,  in  order  to  be  convinced  that  the 
Doctrine  of  Evolution  has  once  for  all  deprived  natural 
theology  of  the  materials  upon  which  until  lately  it 
subsisted.* 

These  apparent  indications  of  creative  forethought  are 
just  so  many  illustrations  of  the  scientific  theorem  that  life, 
whether  physical  or  psychical,  is  the  continuous  adjustment 
of  inner  relations  to  outer  relations.  "  On  this  fact,"  says 
Mr.  Barratt,  "  depends  the  usual  argument  to  prove  the 
existence  of  God  from  design  or  final  causes ;  the  whole 
strength  of  which  is  produced  by  a  mere  verbal  sleight  of 

*  That  Darwinism  lias  given  tho  doath-blow  to  tele()lng\r  is  admitted  by 
Bchleicleii, — an  unwilling  witness.  See  Blichner,  Die  Dnririnsclie  Tkeorie,  p, 
159.  Haeckcl  also  says  : — "  Wir  erblicken  dniin  [in  Darwin's  discovery]  des 
definitiven  Tod  allcr  teleologiscben  und  vitalistischen  Beuvthcilung  der  Or- 
gaiiisuieii."     Gmierelle  Morphologic  der  Onjanisrncn,  torn.  i.  p.  160. 


rm  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pi.  in 

tongue — hy  calling  an  effect  a  cause.  Any  combination 
of  laws  would  produce  its  own  proper  results :  hence  under 
any  constitution  of  the  universe,  good  or  bad,  possible  or 
impossible,  as  it  may  seem  to  us,  it  would  always  be  true 
that  'whatever  is,  is  right.'  To  give  an  instance — the 
particular  laws  of  our  present  universe  bring  about  night, 
they  also  cause  the  phenomenon  sleep  in  animated  creatures : 
these  two  naturally  suit  each  other,  being  different  results  of 
the  same  laws — just  as  any  two  propositions  in  Euclid  agree 
together.  But  to  say  that  either  is  the  final  cause  of  the 
other  is  to  transfer  an  idea  derived  from  one  part  of  ourselves, 
our  motives  to  action,  to  an  entirely  different  part  of  our- 
selves, our  primary  laws  of  sensation.  The  earth  is  suited  to 
its  inhabitants  because  it  has  produced  them,  and  only  such  as 
suit  it  live."  ^  This  last  statement,  which  I  have  italicized,  is 
the  triumphant  answer  with  which  science  meets  the  challenge 
of  natural  theology.  It  is  not  that  the  environment  has 
been  adapted  to  the  organism  by  an  exercise  of  creative 
intelligence  and  beneficence,  but  it  is  that  the  organism  is 
necessarily  fitted  to  the  environment  because  the  fittest 
survive.  In  no  way  can  the  contrast  between  theology  and 
science,  between  Anthropomorphism  and  Cosmism,  be  more 
clearly  illustrated  than  in  this  antithesis.  Let  us  now  pursue 
the  argument  somewhat  farther  into  detail,  but  slightly 
changing  for  a  moment  the  point  of  view,  in  order  that  we 
may  not  only  show  the  superiority  of  the  scientific  explana- 
tion, but  may  also  show  how  the  anthropomorphic  theory 
finds  its  apparent  justification.  A  theory  may  be  shattered 
by  refutation ;  but  in  order  to  demolish  it  utterly  it  must  be 
accounted  for.  We  shall  see  that  from  the  very  constitution 
of  the  human  mind,  and  by  reason  of  the  process  whereby 
intelligence  has  arisen,  we  are  likely  everywhere  to  meet 
with  apparent  results  of  creative  forethought ;  and  that  thiu 
*  Physical  Ethics,  p.  83. 


CH.  ii.J  ANTHROPOMORPHIC  THEISM.  399 

in  the  evolution  of  intelligence  itself  these  phenomena  find 
their  oaly  satisfactory  explanation. 

In  the  chapter  on  the  Evolution  of  Mind  it  was  shown 
that  the  intelligence  of  any  man  consists,  partly  of  inner 
relations  adjusted  from  moment  to  moment  in  conformity 
with  the  outer  relations  present  in  his  own  environment,  aud 
partly  of  organized  and  integrated  inner  relations  bequeathed 
him  by  countless  generations  of  ancestors,  brute  and  human, 
and  adjusted  to  the  outer  relations  constantly  presented  in 
innumerable  ancestral  environments.  Throughout  all  time, 
therefore,  since  intelligence  first  appeared  upon  the  earth, 
the  world  of  conceptions  has  been  maintained  in  more  or  less 
complete  correspondence  with  the  world  of  phenomena. 
Just  as  in  the  mental  evolution  of  each  individual  there  is 
preserved  a  certain  degree  of  harmony  with  the  mental 
evolution  of  contemporary  and  surrounding  individuals,  so 
the  total  evolution  of  intelligence  has  kept  pace  more  or 
less  evenly  with  the  changes  of  the  environment  with  which 
it  has  interacted.  Sense  after  sense  has  assumed  distinct 
existence  in  response  to  stimuli  from  without.  One  set  of 
experiences  after  another  has  been  coordinated  in  harmony 
with  combinations  existing  without.  Emotion  after  emotion 
has  been  slowly  generated  in  conformity  with  the  necessities 
entailed  by  outward  circumstances.  And  thus  the  contem- 
plating mind  and  the  world  of  phenomena  contemplated  are, 
if  I  may  so  express  it,  tuned  in  mysterious  unison. 

Let  us  now  inquire  into  the  bearing  of  this  fact  upon  the 
urigin  and  apparent  justification  of  the  teleological  theory. 
We  have  seen  that  man  has  from  the  earliest  times  been 
wont  to  project  ideally  his  personality  into  the  external 
world,  assimilating  the  forces  of  physical  nature  to  the  forces 
displayed  in  his  own  volitions,  and  with  unrestrained  fancy 
multiplying  likenesses  of  his  own  intelligence  as  means 
fvhereby  to  render  comprehensible  the  agencies  ever  at  work 
wound   him.      Stronger  in  the  ages  of  primeval  fetishism 


400  COSMIC  P.EILOSOPHT.  [pi.  lu 

than  at  any  subsequent  time,  this  aboriginal  tendency  is 
nevertheless  not  yet  quite  fully  overcome.  Even  as  in  the 
crying  of  an  infant  at  sight  of  a  stranger  may  be  seen  still 
feebly  surviving  the  traces  of  feelings  organized  in  the  race 
at  a  time  when  the  strange  meant  the  dangerous,  so  likewise 
may  we  detect  evanescent  symptoms  of  a  fetishistic  style  of 
reasoning  in  many  highly  subtilized  ontological  theories  now 
in  vogue  ;  of  which  tlie  volitional  theory  of  causation,  above 
dealt  with,  is  a  notable  example.  This  archaic  mode  of 
reasoning,  now  become  exceptional,  was  once  universal. 
Now  applied  only  to  the  most  abstruse  problems,  it  was 
at  first  equally  employed  in  the  solution  of  the  simplest. 
Storm  and  sunshine,  as  well  as  defeat  and  victory,  were 
regarded  as  the  manifestations  of  superhuman  volition 
and  the  achievements  of  superhuman  intelligence.  But 
scientific  generalization,  steadily  arranging  in  correlated 
groups  phenomena  which  had  hitherto  seemed  isolated  and 
lawless,  was  followed  by  the  generalization  of  presiding 
divinities.  And  this  went  on  until,  in  comparatively  modern 
times  the  habit  of  viewing  nature  as  an  organic  whole  has 
resulted  in  monotheism.  As  the  most  prominent  result  of 
this  generalizing  process  we  have  seen  slowly  going  «m  an 
elimination,  from  the  objects  of  men's  worship,  of  tiie  less 
noble  qualities  originally  ascribed  to  them.  One  by  tine  the 
grosser  sensual  passions,  the  emotions  least  worthy  of  re- 
verence, and  intellectual  shortcomings,  such  as  the  liability  to 
make  mistakes  and  to  be  overreached,  have  been  omitted 
from  the  conception  of  Deity.  And  the  culminatioi*  of  this 
purifying  process  is  to  be  seen  in  the  Deity  of  ths  modern 
metaphysician,  which  is  little  more  than  an  abstract  embodi- 
ment of  reason  and  volition.  But  in  spite  of  all  this  pro- 
greasive  change  in  the  form  of  the  conception,  its  substance 
E.till  remains  the  same.  It  is  still  the  human  personality, 
however  refined  and  etherealized,  which  is  appealed  to  alike 
us  the  source  and  as  the  explanation  of  all  phenomena.     It 


FH.  II.]  ANTHROPOMOBPHIG  THEISM.  401 

is  the  primitive  fetishistic  habit  of  thought,  however  modified 
by  contlict  with  scientific  liabits,  whicli  furtively  leads  us  to 
regard  volition  as  supplying  the  nexus  between  cause  and 
effect,  and  to  interpret  the  harmonious  correspondences  iu 
nature  as  results  of  creative  contrivance  and  indications  of 
creative  purpose. 

Such  being  the  origin  of  the  teleological  hypothesis,  its 
apparent  warrant  is  to  be  sought  in  the  facts  above  recounted 
with  respect  to  the  evolution  of  intelligence.  It  is  the  com- 
plex and  organized  correspondence  of  the  mind  with  its 
environment,  which  seems  to  furnish  inductive  justification 
to  the  thinker  who  is  predisposed  to  see  in  nature  the  workings 
of  a  mind  like  his  own.  Arranging  and  combining  various 
experiences  received  from  without,  adjusting  new  inner  rela- 
tions to  outer  relations  established  from  time  immemorial, 
man  reacts  upon  the  environment,  and  calls  into  being  new 
aggregations  of  matter,  new  channels  of  motion,  new  reservoirs 
of  energy.  He  does  not  perceive  and  reflect  only — he  also  con- 
trives and  invents.  As  often  as  he  builds  an  engine,  launches 
a  ship,  paints  a  picture,  moulds  a  statue,  or  composes  a  sym- 
phony, he  creates  in  the  environment  new  relations  tallying 
with  those  present  within  himself.  And  then,  hy  a  natural 
but  deceptive  analogy,  he  infers  that  what  has  taken  place  in 
the  tiny  portion  of  the  universe  which  owns  himself  as  its 
designer,  must  also  have  taken  place  throughout  the  whole. 
All  the  relations  externally  existing,  he  interprets  as  conse- 
quent upon  primordial  relations  shaped  in  a  mind  similar 
to  his  own.  By  a  subtle  realism,  he  projects  the  idea  of 
himself  out  upon  the  field  of  phenomena,  and  deals  with  it 
henceforth  as  an  objective  reality.  Human  intelligence  made 
the  watch,  therefore  superhuman  intelligence  made  the  flower. 
Human  volitions  bring  to  pass  wars  and  revolutions,  divine 
volitions  therefore  cause  famine  and  pestilence.  So  when, 
m  the  pervading  unity  whicli  amid  endless  variety  of  detail 
binds  into  a  synthetic  whole  the  classes  and  genera  of  the 

VOL.  II.  D   D 


4US  COSMIC  FEILOSOPMY.  [pt.iii. 

organic  world,  an  earnest  and  reverent  thinker,  liko:  Agassiz, 
beholds  the  work  of  omnipresent  thought,  he  is  but  imawares 
contemplating  his  own  personality  reflected  before  him,  and  mis- 
taking, Karcissus-like,  a  mirrored  image  for  a  substantial  object 
of  adoration.  Thus  is  explained,  even  while  it  is  refuted,  the 
famous  argument  of  the  watch,  with  all  its  numerous  kin- 
dred. In  the  anthropomorphic  hypothesis,  the  bearings  of 
the  inner  and  the  outer  worlds  are  exactly  reversed.  It  is 
not  the  intelligence  which  has  made  the  environment,  but  it 
is  the  environment  which  has  moulded  the  intelligence.  In 
the  mint  of  nature,  the  coin  Mind  has  been  stamped;  and 
theology,  perceiving  the  likeness  of  the  die  to  its  impression, 
has  unwittingly  inverted  the  causal  relation  of  the  two, 
making  Mind,  archetypal  and  self-existent,  to  be  the  die. 

Therefore,  to  cite  the  language  employed  with  slightly 
different  but  kindred  intent  by  Mr.  Barratt,  "  we  protest 
against  the  reversal  of  the  true  order.  .  .  .  We  must  not  fall 
down  and  worship  as  the  source  of  our  life  and  virtue  the 
image  which  our  own  minds  have  set  up.  Why  is  such 
idolatry  any  better  than  that  of  the  old  wood  and  stone  ?  If 
we  worship  the  creations  of  our  minds,  why  not  also  those 
of  our  hands  ?  The  one  is  indeed  a  more  refined  self-adora- 
tion than  the  other ;  but  the  radical  error  remains  the  same 
in  both.  The  old  idolators  were  wrong,  not  because  they 
worshipped  themselves,  but  because  they  worshipped  their 
creation  as  if  it  were  their  creator ;  and  how  can  any  [anthro~ 
pomorphic  theory]  escape  the  same  condemnation  ?  "  ^ 

The  origin  of  the  teleological  hypothesis  is  thus  pointed 
nut,  and  its  plausibility  accounted  for.  On  the  one  hand, 
the  primitive  tendency  in  man  to  interpret  nature  anthropo- 
morphically,  and  his  proneness  to  lend  to  his  own  ideas 
objective  embodiment,  are  facts  admitting  no  dispute.  All 
history  teems  with  evidences  of  their  wide-spread  and  deep- 
rooted  influence.  Has  not  fetishism  been  at  one  time  the 
universal  theology,  and  realism  at  another  time  the  dominant 
*  Physical  Ethics,  p.  225. 


CH.  II.]  ANTHROPOMORPHIC  THEISM.  403 

pliilosophy  ?  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  a  corollary  from  the 
fundamental  laws  of  life  that  psychical  development  has 
followed  the  course  and  been  determined  by  the  conditions 
above  described.  The  view  here  defended  may  thus  far  claim 
at  least  equal  weight  with  those  which  maintain  the  validity 
of  the  teleological  hypothesis.  But  we  have  next  to  consider 
a  class  of  phenomena,  in  the  explanation  of  which  that  hypo- 
thesis appears  at  a  signal  disadvantage. 

The  perfect  adjustment  of  inner  to  outer  relations  is 
that  which  constitutes  perfect  life.  Were  no  chemical  or 
mechanical  relations  to  arise  without  the  organism,  too 
sudden,  too  intricate,  or  too  unusual,  to  be  met  by  internal 
adaptations,  death  from  disease  and  accident  would  no  longer 
occur.  Were  there  no  concurrence  of  phenomena  defying 
interpretation  and  refusing  to  be  classified,  there  would  be 
perfect  knowledge.  Were  no  desires  awakened,  save  such  as 
might  be  legitimately  gratified  by  the  requisite  actions,  there 
would  be  perfect  happiness.  That  the  ultimate  state  of 
humanity  will  be  characterized  by  a  relatively  close  ap- 
proach to  such  an  equilibrium  between  external  require- 
ments and  internal  resources,  is  a  belief  which,  however  para- 
doxical it  may  seem  to  a  superficial  observer,  is  justified  by 
all  that  we  know  of  history  and  of  biology.  It  is  with  reason 
that  the  modern  mind  sees  its  Golden  Age  in  the  distant 
future,  as  the  ancient  mind  saw  it  in  the  forgotten  past. 
But  however  bright  and  glorious  may  be  the  destination  of 
mankind,  its  onward  progress  is  marked  by  irksome  toil  and 
bitter  sorrow.  Though  like  the  crusading  children,  in  Arnold's 
beautiful  simile,  we  may  cry  from  time  to  time,  "Jerusalem  is 
reached  ! "  it  is  only  to  be  rudely  awakened  from  our  delusion 
— to  realize  that  the  goal  is  yet  far  off,  and  that  many  a  weary 
.eague  must  be  traversed  before  we  can  attain  it.  ]\Iean- 
while,  grinding  misery  is  the  lot  of  many,  regret  and  disap- 
pointment the  portion  of  all.  The  life  of  the  wisest  man  is 
cKiefly  made  up  of  lost  opportunities,  defeated  hopes,  half- 

D   D   2 


404  COSMIG  PHI  lOSOFHY,  [pt.  iil 

finished  projects,  and  frequent  failure  in  the  ever-renewed 
strife  between  good  and  evil  inclinations.  So  penetrated  are 
the  noblest  careers  by  the  leaven  of  selfish  folly,  that  the 
conscientious  biographer  is  too  often  constrained  to  adopt  the 
tone  of  apology,  mingling  condemnation  with  approval.  Side 
by  side  with  deeds  of  heroism  and  sympathetic  devotion,  his- 
tory is  ever  recording  deeds  of  violence  and  selfish  oppres- 
sion. Undisciplined  and  conflicting  desires  are  continually 
coming  to  fruition  in  hateful  and  iniquitous  actions.  The 
perennial  recurrence  of  war  and  persecution,  the  obstinate 
vitality  of  such  ugly  things  as  despotism,  superstition,  fraud, 
robbery,  treachery,  and  bigotry,  show  how  chaotic  as  yet  is 
the  distribution  of  moral  forces.  While  the  prevalence,  here 
and  there,  of  ignorance  and  poverty,  disease  and  famine,  shows 
how  imperfect  as  yet  is  our  power  to  adapt  ourselves  to  the 
changes  going  on  around  us. 

That  this  state  of  things  is  temporarily  necessitated  by  the 
physical  constitution  of  the  universe  and  by  the  process  of 
evolution  itself,  may  readily  be  granted.^  The  physical  ills 
with  which  humanity  is  afflicted  are  undoubtedly  consequent 
upon  the  very  movement  of  progress  which  is  bearing  it  on- 
ward toward  relative  perfection  of  life,  and  moral  evils  like- 
wise are  the  indispensable  concomitants  of  its  slow  transition 
from  the  primeval  state  of  savage  isolation  to  the  ultimate 
state  of  civilized  interdependence.  They  are  not  obstacles  to 
any  scientific  theory  of  evolution,  nor  do  they  provide  en 
excuse  for  gloomy  cynicism,  but  should  rather  be  viewed 
with  quiet  resignation,  relieved  by  philosophic  hopefulness, 
and  enlightened  endeavours  to  ameliorate  them.     But  thoufrh 

'  In  treatin.Qf  of  tha  special-crention  hypnthef5is  [Principles  of  Biology, 
paitiii.j  Jlr.  Sjieiicer  calls  attention  to  the  numerous  cases  in  which  the 
Dither  life  is  saeriticed,  without  compensation,  to  the.  lower,  as  for  example  in. 
the  case  of  parasites.  This  is  a  formidable  objection,  not  only  to  the  doctriun 
»f  special  creations,  but  to  anthropomorjihic  theism  in  general.  But  for  mj 
Orer^ent  purpose  if  is  quite  enough  to  point  out  that  the  constitution  of  the 
world  is  such  that  even  the  genesis  of  higher  life  involves  au  enormous  io< 
Miction  of  misery  u^ou  sentient  creatures 


CH.  II.]  ANTIIROFOMOEPEIG  IREISM.  40B 

crime  and  suffcrirg  may  infleed  "be  deFstini^d  eventnany  to 
disappear,  their  prevalence  throughout  the  recorded  past  has 
none  the  less  been  ever  the  stumbling-block  and  opprobrium 
of  all  anthropomorphic  theories  of   the  universe.     Juiit  so 
far  as   the  •  correspondence   between   the   organism  and  its 
environment  is  complete,  does  the  teleological  hypothesis  find 
apparent  confirmation.     Just  so  far  as  the  correspondence  is 
incomplete,  does  it  meet  with  patent  contradiction.     If  har- 
mony and  fitness  are   to   be   cited  as  proofs  of  tenoficent 
design,  then  discord  and  unfitness  must  equally  be  kept  in 
view  as  evidences  of  less  admirable  contrivance.     A  scheme 
which  permits  thousands  of  generations  to  live  and  die  in 
wretchedness,  cannot,  merely  by  providing  for  the  well-being 
of  later  ages,  be  absolved  from  the  alternative  charge  of  awk- 
wardness or  malevolence.     If  there  exist  a  personal  Creator 
of  the  universe  who  is  infinitely  intelligent  and  powerful, 
he  cannot  be  infinitely  good:  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  be 
infinite  in  goodness,  then  he  must  be  lamentably  finite  in 
power  or  in  intelligence.     By  this  two-edged  difficulty.  Theo- 
logy has   ever   been   foiled.     Vainly  striving  to   elude  the 
dilemma,   she   has    at    times    sought   refuge   in   optimism ; 
alleging  the   beneficent  results  of  suffering  and  the  evan- 
escent character  of  evil,  as  if  to  prove  that  suffering  and 
evil  do  not  really  exist.     Usually,  however,  she  has  taken 
the  opposite  course,  postulating  distinct  supernatural  sources 
for  the  ovil  and  the  good.^     From  the  Jotuns  and  Vritras  of 


*  " OvK  ipa.  irdvToov  ye  aXriov  rS  dyaOoi',  o\xA  rwv  fiiv  <3  i'/^vToou  aXriov,  tZv 
l\  KaKwv  dvaiTiov.  OvU"  dpa  6  ©f^y,  ETrtiS''  dyjOus,  irduTuv  &u  it-q  aXrios,  ws  ol 
noWol  XiyovTiv,  dW'  6\iywv  fxtv  tois  avOpwTrois  atTWS,  iri>K\wv  66  dvairios' 
noKv  ydp  iXo-rrco  rdyada.  twv  Kanwv  yl,uiv  Kai  twv  niv  iyaGwv  ovSefa  AWou 
tlr tar fov,  rwv  Se  Kanwv  aW'  S.rra  Se?  Qr\Tf\v  to.  atria,  dW'  ov  rov  @e6v."  Plato, 
Republic,  ii.  18  (Bekker).  Ho  goes  on  to  refute  the  Homeric  concei^tion  oi 
the  two  j;ivs,  Iliad,  xxiv.  6G0.  Sse  also  Aristotle,  Mctap/iysica,  A.  p.  984. 
b.  17  ;  and  compare  tlie  views  of  James  Jlill,  in  J.  S.  ilill's  AutoUography^ 
p.  40.  For  those  who  may  wish  to  revive  tho  ilanichreau  doctrine,  an  excel- 
lent T'oint  of  (K'parture  has  been  afforded  by  Mr.  Jlartinean,  in  his  suggestion 
that  the  primary  qualities  of  matter  constitute  a  "  datura  objective  to  God," 
irho,  "in  shaping  the  orbits  out  of  immensity,  and  determining  seasons  oat 


106  COSMIC  FHILOSOFHY.  [n.  in. 

early  Aryan  mythology,  down  to  the  multiform  Manichseism 
of  later  times,  may  be  seen  the  innumerable  vestiges  of  her 
fruitless  attempts  to  reconcile  the  fact  of  the  existence  of 
evil  with  the  hypothesis  of  the  infinite  power  and  bene* 
volence  of  a  personal  Deity. 

It  is  not  for  the  theologian  to  seek  to  stifle  such  objec- 
tions by  telling  us  that,  in  raising  them,  we  are  blasphe- 
mously judging  of  the  character  of  the  Deity  by  human 
standards.  Nor  is  it  for  him  to  silence  us  by  pointing  to 
the  wondrous  process  of  evolution  as  itself  the  working  out 
of  a  mighty  Teleology  of  which  our  finite  understandings 
can  fathom  but  the  scantiest  rudiments.^  As  we  shall  see 
in  the  fifth  chapter,  the  process  of  evolution,  when  reve- 
rently treated  with  the  aid  of  such  scientific  resources  as 
we  possess,  and  when  disencumbered  of  anthropomorphic 
hypotheses,  leads  us  in  the  way  of  no  such  fearful  dilemma 
as  the  one  by  which  we  are  now  encountered.  It  is 
theology  alone  which  drives  us  to  the  brink  of  this 
fathomless  abyss,  by  insisting  upon  the  representation  of 
the  Deity  as  a  person  endowed  with  anthropomorphic  at- 
tributes. If  goodness  and  intelligence  are  to  be  ascribed 
to  the  Deity,  it  must  be  the  goodness  and  intelligence  of 
which  we  have  some  rudimentary  knowledge  as  manifested 
in  humanity :  otherwise  our  hypothesis  is  resolved  into 
unmeaning    verbiage.      "If,"    as    Mr.   Mill    observes,    "in 

of  eternity,  coj'.Jd  hut  follow  the  laws  of  curvature,  moasure,  and  proportion." 
Essays,  Fhilosojjhical  and  Theological,  pp.  163,  164.  lu  this  way  Mr.  Mar- 
tineau  preserves  the  quasi-human  character  of  God  in  tlie  only  way  in  which 
(as  I  maintain)  it  can  be  preserved, — namely,  by  sacrificing  his  Omnipotence. 
In  seeking  to  escape  from  Mr.  Spencer's  doctrine  of  the  Unknowable,  Mr. 
Martineau  succeeds  only  in  positing,  in  his  "  olijective  datum,"  an  ulterior 
Unknowable,  by  which  God's  power  is  limited,  and  which  ex  hypoihesi  is  not 
Uviae.  This  brings  us  directly  back  to  Oiranzd  and  Ahriiuan.  See  Mr. 
Spencer's  remarks,  Fortnightly  Review,  Dec.  1873 ;  vol.  xiv.  N,S.  dd. 
726—728. 

^  For  by  taking  such  ground  as  this,  ho  would  virtually  abandon  his 
inthropomorphic  hypothesis,  and  concede  all  that  is  demanded  by  the  Cosmist. 
For  tlu3  conception  of  teleology  imjilied  in  the  process  of  evolution.  Me 
Huxlejr,  Ciiti(j;ues  and  Addresoes,  p.  306, 


CH.  11.]  ANTHROFOMOBFHIG  THEISM.  407 

ascribing  goodness  to  God  I  do  net  mean  what  I  mean  by 
goodness ;  if  I  do  not  mean  the  goodness  of  wliich  I  have 
some  knowledge,  but  an  incomprehensible  attribute  of  an 
incomprehensible  substance,  w^hich  for  aught  I  know  may 
be  a  totally  different  quality  from  that  which  I  love  and 
venerate — what  do  I  mean  by  calling  it  goodness  ?  and 
what  reason  have  I  for  venerating  it  ?  To  say  that  God's 
goodness  may  be  different  in  kind  from  man's  goodness, 
what  is  it  but  saying,  with  a  slight  change  of  phraseology, 
that  God  may  possibly  not  be  good  ? "  With  Mr.  Mill, 
therefore,  "  I  will  call  no  Being  good,  who  is  not  what  I 
mean  when  I  apply  that  epithet  to  my  fellow- creatures." 
And,  going  a  step  farther,  I  will  add  that  it  is  impossible 
to  call  that  Being  good,  who,  existing  prior  to  the  pheno- 
menal universe,  and  creating  it  out  of  the  plenitude  of 
infinite  power  and  foreknowledge,  endowed  it  with  such 
properties  that  its  material  and  moral  development  must 
inevitably  be  attended  by  the  misery  of  untold  millions  of 
sentient  creatures  for  whose  existence  their  Creator  is  ulti- 
mately alone  responsible.  In  sliort,  there  can  he  no  hi/po- 
thesis  of  a  "  moral  government "  of  the  world,  which  does 
not  implicitly  assert  an  immoral  government.  As  soon  as 
we  seek  to  go  beyond  the  process  of  evolution  disclosed 
by  science,  and  posit  an  external  Agency  which  is  in  the 
slightest  degree  anthropomorphic,  we  are  obliged  either  to 
supplement  and  limit  this  Agency  by  a  second  one  that  is 
diabolic,  or  else  to  include  elements  of  diabolism  in  the 
character  of  the  first  Agency  itself  And  in  the  latter  case 
the  blasphemy — if  we  choose  to  call  it  so — lies  at  the  door 
of  those  who,  by  urging  upon  us  their  anthropomorphic 
hypothesis,  oblige  us  to  judge  the  character  of  the  Deity  by 
human  standards  ;  and  not  at  the  door  of  those  who  simply 
reveal  the  true  character  of  that  anthroponaorphic  hypothesis 
by  setting  forth  its  hidden  implications. 


408  COSMIC  PHILOSOPRY.  [ft.  hl 

Thuy  from  every  point  of  view  the  doctrine  of  a  quasi- 
human  God  appears  equally  unsatisfactory  to  the  scientific 
thinker.  It  rests  upon  unsupported  theories  of  causation, 
upon  a  mistaken  conception  of  law,  and  upon  a  teleological 
hypothesis  whose  origin  renders  it  suspicious,  and  whose 
evidence  fails  it  in  the  hour  of  need.  The  inductive  proof 
alleged  in  its  support  is  founded  upon  the  correspondence 
between  the  organism  and  the  environment,  and  wliere  the 
correspondence  fails,  just  there  the  doctrine  is  left  helples5. 
The  Doctrine  of  Evolution  thus  not  only  accounts  for  the 
origin  and  apparent  justification  of  the  anthropomorphic 
theory,  but  also  reveals  its  limitations.  And  when  thus 
closely  scrutinized,  the  hypothesis  appears  as  imperfect 
morally  as  it  is  intellectually.  It  is  shown  to  be  as  incom- 
patible with  the  truest  religion  as  it  is  with  the  truest  science. 
Instead  of  enlightening,  it  only  mystifies  us ;  and,  so  far 
from  consoling,  it  tends  to  drive  us  to  cynical  despair. 

In  spite  of  all  the  care  observed  in  the  wording  of  the 
foregoing  argument — a  care  directed  toward  the  bringing  out 
of  my  entire  thought,  and  not  toward  the  concealing  of  any 
portion  of  it — the  views  here  maintained  will  doubtless  by 
many  be  pronounced  "  covertly  atheistical."  It  must  be 
reserved  for  the  next  three  chapters  to  demonstrate  that  they 
are  precisely  the  reverse,  and  that  the  intelligent  acceptance 
of  them  must  leave  us  in  an  attitude  toward  God  more 
reverential  than  that  which  is  assumed  by  those  who  still 
cling  to  the  anthropomorphic  hypothesis.  At  present  we  must 
be  content  with  noting  that  our  choice  is  no  longer  between 
an  intelligent  Deity  and  none  at  all :  it  lies  between  a  limited 
Deity  and  one  that  is  without  limit.  For,  as  tlie  foregoing 
discussion  has  plainly  shown,  and  as  must  appeal  from  every 
similar  discussion  of  the  subject  in  terms  of  the  Doctrine  of 
Evolution,  an  anthropomorphic  God  cannot  be  conceived  as 
an  infinite  God.  Personality  and  Ivfinity  are  terms  expres- 
uive  of  ideas  which  are  mutually  incompatible.     The  pseud' 


CH.  II.]  ANTEBOFOMOBPHIC  TEEISM,  40!» 

idea  **  Infinite  Person "  is  neither  more  nryr  less  un 
thinkable  than  the  pseud-idea  "  Circular  Triangle."  Aa 
Spinoza  somewhere  says,  Determinatio  negaiio  est, — to  define 
God  is  to  deny  Him  ;  and  such  being  the  case,  what  can  be 
more  irrational  than  to  insist  upon  thought  and  volition, 
phenomena  only  known  to  exist  within  quite  narrow  limita- 
tions, as  the  very  nature  and  essence  of  the  infinite  Deity  ? 
"What  theory  of  physical  or  moral  phenomena,  built  upon 
such  an  inadequate  basis,  can  be  other  than  unsound  and 
misleading?  What  wonder  if  it  continually  land  us  in 
awkward  and  conflicting  conclusions,  painful  to  us  alike 
as  inquiring  and  as  religious  beings  ?  As  Goethe  has  pro- 
foundly said,  "Since  the  great  Being  whom  we  name  the 
Deity  manifests  himself  not  only  in  man,  but  in  a  rich 
and  powerful  Nature,  and  in  mighty  world-events,  a 
representation  of  Him,  framed  from  human  qualities,  can- 
not of  course  be  adequate,  and  the  thoughtful  observer 
will  soon  come  to  imperfections  and  contradictions,  which 
will  drive  him  to  doubt — nay,  even  to  despair — unless  he 
be  either  little  enough  to  let  himself  be  soothed  by  an 
artful  evasion,  or  great  enough  to  rise  to  a  higher  point  of 
view."  *  To  those  whom  the  habits  of  thought  which  science 
nurtures  have  led  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  an  all-per- 
vading and  all-sustaining  Power,  eternally  and  everywhere 
manifested  in  the  phenomenal  activity  of  the  universe,  alike 
the  cause  of  all  and  the  inscrutable  essence  of  all,  without 
whom  the  world  would  be  as  the  shadow  of  a  vision,  and 
thought  itself  would  vanish, — to  these  the  conception  of  a 
presiding  anthropomorphic  Will  is  a  gross  and  painful  con- 
ception. Even  were  it  the  highest  phenomenal  conception 
which  can  be  framed,  it  would  still  be  inadequate  to  re- 
present the  Ineffable  Eeality.  But  we  do  not  and  cannot 
know  even  that  it  is  the  highest.  Hegel  was  rash  with 
all  the  metaphysician's  rashness  when  he  said  that  Humanity 
*  Eckerniann,  voL  ii.  p.  357. 


410  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.iil 

is  the  most  perfect  type  of  existence  in  the  universe.  Oui 
knowledge  of  the  Cosmos  has  been  aptly  compared  by 
Carlyle  to  the  knowledge  which  a  minnow  in  its  native 
creek  has  of  the  outlying  ocean.  Of  the  innumerable  com- 
binations of  matter  and  incarnations  of  force  which  are 
going  on  within  the  bounds  of  space,  we  know,  save  a  few 
of  the  simplest,  those  only  which  are  confined  to  the  sur- 
face of  our  little  planet.  And  to  assert  that  among  them 
all  there  may  not  be  forms  of  existence  as  far  transcend- 
ing humanity  as  humanity  itself  transcends  the  crystal  or 
the  sea- weed,  is  certainly  the  height  of  unwarrantable 
assumption. 

*•  Think  yon  this  mould  of  hopes  and  fears 
Could  find  no  statelier  than  his  peers 
In  yonder  hundred  million  spheres  ? " 

Until  our  knowledge  becomes  coextensive  with  the  entire 
world  of  phenomena,  questions  like  these  must  remain 
unanswered.  Meanwhile  we  may  rest  assured  that,  could 
vre  solve  them  all,  the  state  of  the  case  would  not  be  essen- 
tially altered.  Our  conception  might  be  relatively  far  loftier, 
but  from  the  absolute  point  of  view  it  would  be  equally 
beneath  the  Eeality.  We  are  therefore  forced  to  conclude 
that  the  process  of  deanthropomorphization  which  has  from 
the  first  characterized  the  history  of  philosophic  development 
must  still  continue  to  go  on ;  until  the  Intelligent  Will 
postulated  by  the  modern  theologian  shall  have  shared  the 
fate  of  the  earlier  and  still  more  imperfect  symbols  whereby 
finite  man  has  vainly  tried  to  realize  that  which  must  evd 
transcend  his  powers  of  conception. 


CHAPTER  in. 

COSMIC  THEISM. 

The  conclusions  reached  in  the  foregoing  chapter  were 
purely  negative,  and  would  therefore  be  very  unsatisfactory 
if  we  were  obliged  to  rest  in  them  as  final.  Upon  the 
religious  side  of  philosophy  as  well  as  upon  its  scientific 
side,  the  mind  needs  some  fundamental  theorem  with  refer- 
ence to  which  it  may  occupy  a  positive  attitude.  According 
to  the  theory  of  life  and  intelligence  expounded  in  previous 
chapters,  mere  scepticism  can  discharge  but  a  provisional 
and  temporary  function.  To  the  frivolously-minded  the 
mere  negation  of  belief  may  be  in  no  wise  distressing ;  but 
to  the  earnest  inquirer  the  state  of  scepticism  is  accompanied 
by  pain,  which,  here  as  elsewhere,  is  only  subserving  its 
proper  function  when  it  stimulate's  him  to  renewed  search 
after  a  positive  result.  In  the  present  transcendental  inquiry 
it  may  indeed  at  first  sight  seem  impossible  to  arrive  at  any 
positive  result  whatever,  without  ignoring  the  relativity  of 
knowledge  and  proving  recreant  to  the  rigorous  requirements 
of  the  objective  method.  Nevertheless,  as  was  hinted  at  the 
close  of  the  preceding  chapter,  this  is  not  the  case.  Although 
the  construction  of  a  theology,  or  science  of  Deity,  is  a  task 
which  exceeds  the  powers  of  human  intelligence,  there  is 
aevertheless  one  supreraely  important  theorem  in  which  science 


412  COSMIC  FB.ILOSOPHY.  [pt.  hi. 

and  religion  find  their  permanent  reconciliation,  and  by  the 
assertion  of  which  the  mind  is  brought  into  a  positive 
attitude  of  faith  with  reference  to  the  Inscrutable  Power 
manifested  in  the  universe.  The  outcome  of  the  present 
argument  is  not  Atheism  or  Positivism,  but  a  phase  of 
Theism  which  is  higher  and  purer,  because  relatively  truer, 
than  the  anthropomorphic  phase  defended  by  theologians. 

This  all-important  theorem  in  which  science  and  religion 
are  reconciled,  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  theorem 
which  alone  gives  complete  expression  to  the  truth  that  all 
knowledge  is  relative.  In  the  first  chapter  of  this  work  it 
was  elaborately  proved  that  as  soon  as  we  attempt  to  frame 
any  hypothesis  whatever  concerning  the  Absolute,  or  that 
which  exists  out  of  relation  to  our  consciousness,  we  are 
instantly  checkmated  by  alternative  impossibilities  of  thought, 
and  when  we  seek  to  learn  why  this  is  so,  we  are  taught  by 
a  psychologic  analysis  that,  from  the  very  organization  of 
our  minds,  and  by  reason  of  the  very  process  by  which 
intelligence  has  been  evolved,  we  can  form  no  cognition  into 
which  there  do  not  enter  the  elements  of  likeness,  differencey 
and  relation, — so  that  the  Absolute,  as  presenting  none  of 
these  elements,  is  utterly  and  for  ever  unknowable.  Trans- 
lating this  conclusion  into  more  familiar  language,  we  found 
it  to  mean,  first,  "  that  the  Deity,  in  so  far  as  absolute  and 
infinite,  is  inscrutable  by  us,  and  that  every  hypothesis  of 
ours  concerning  its  nature  and  attributes  can  serve  only  to 
illustrate  our  mental  impotence," — and,  secondly,  "that  the 
Universe  in  itself  is  likewise  inscrutable;  that  the  vast 
synthesis  of  forces  without  us,  which  in  manifold  contact 
with  us  is  from  infancy  till  the  close  of  life  continually 
arousing  us  to  perceptive  activity,  can  never  be  known  by 
us  as  it  exists  objectively,  but  only  as  it  affects  our  con- 
Bciousness."  ^ 

These  are  the  closely-allied  conclusions  which  were  reached 

*  See  above,  vol  L  p.  16. 


OH.  iii.l  COSMIO  THEISM.  413 

in  our  opening  discussion,  But  since  such  abstruse  theorems 
need  to  be  taken  one  by  one  into  tlie  mind,  and  allowed  one 
after  the  other  to  dwell  there  for  a  while,  in  order  to  be  duly 
comprehended,  it  did  not  then  seem  desirable  to  encumber 
the  exposition  with  any  reference  to  the  third  statement  in 
which  these  two  are  made  to  unite;  nor,  indeed,  would  it 
have  been  possible  to  illustrate  adequately  this  third  state- 
ment until  we  had  defined  our  position  in  relation  to  the 
questions  of  phenomenality,  of  causation  and  deanthropo- 
morphization,  of  the  persistence  of  force,  and  of  the  evolution 
of  the  phenomenal  world.  But  now,  having  obtained  definite 
conclusions  upon  these  points,  we  are  at  last  enabled  to 
present  the  case  as  a  whole.  Having  seen  that  in  certain 
senses  the  Deity  and  the  Cosmos  are  alike  inscrutable,  let  us 
now  see  if  there  is  any  sense  in  which  it  may  be  legitimately 
said  that  the  Unknowable  contained  in  our  first  theorem  is 
identical  with  the  Unknowable  contained  in  our  second 
theorem. 

Upon  what  grounds  did  we  assert  the  unknowableness  of 
Deity?  We  were  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  Deity  is 
unknowable,  because  that  which  exists  independently  of  in- 
telligence and  out  of  relation  to  it,  which  presents  neither 
likeness,  difference,  nor  relation,  cannot  be  cognized.  Now  by 
preci.^ely  the  same  process,  we  were  driven  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  Cosmos  is  unknowable,  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  absolute. 
It  is  only  as  existing  independently  of  our  intelligence  and 
out  of  relation  to  it,  that  we  can  predicate  unknowableness 
of  the  Cosmos.  As  manifested  to  our  intelligence,  the  Cos- 
mos is  the  world  of  phenomena, — the  realm  of  the  knowable. 
We  know  stars  and  planets,  we  know  the  surface  of  our  earth, 
we  know  life  and  mind  in  their  various  manifestations,  indi- 
vidual and  social  But,  as  we  have  seen,  this  vast  aggregate 
of  plienomena  exists  as  such  only  in  relation  to  our  intelli- 
gence. Its  esse  is  percipi.  To  this  extent  we  have  gone  with 
Berkeley,     But  underlying  this  aggregate  of  phenomena,  to 


114  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.  hi. 

whose  extension  we  know  no  limit  in  space  or  time,  we  liave 
found  ourselves  compelled  to  postulate  an  Absolute  Eeality, — 
a  Something  whose  existence  does  not  depend  on  the  pre- 
sence of  a  percipient  mind,  which  existed  before  the  genesis 
of  intelligence,  and  would  continue  to  exist  though  all  intelli- 
gence were  to  vanish  from  the  scene.  "Without  making  such 
a  postulate,  we  concluded  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
frame  any  theory  whatever,  either  of  subjective  or  of  objective 
phenomena.  Thus  the  theorem  of  the  relativity  of  knowledge, 
when  fully  expressed,  asserts  that  there  exists  a  Something, 
of  which  all  phenomena,  as  presented  in  consciousness,  are 
manifestations,  but  concerning  which  we  can  know  nothing 
save  through  its  manifestations. 

Let  us  now  take  a  step  further,  and  turning  to  the  con- 
clusions reached  in  the  first  chapter  of  Part  II.,  let  il<» 
inquire  what  is  the  Force  of  which  we  there  asserted  the  per- 
sistence ?  "  It  is  not,"  says  Mr.  Spencer,  "  the  force  we  are 
immediately  conscious  of  in  our  own  muscular  efforts;  for 
this  does  not  persist.  As  soon  as  an  outstretched  limb  i? 
relaxed,  the  sense  of  tension  disappears.  True,  we  assert 
that  in  the  stone  thrown  or  in  the  weight  lifted,  is  exhibited 
the  effect  of  this  muscular  tension  ;  and  that  the  force  which 
has  ceased  to  be  present  in  our  consciousness,  exists  else- 
where. But  it  does  not  exist  elsewhere  under  any  form 
cognizable  by  us.  It  was  proved  that  though,  on  raising  an 
object  from  the  ground,  we  are  obliged  to  think  of  its  down- 
ward pull  as  equal  and  opposite  to  our  upward  pull;  and 
though  it  is  impossible  to  represent  these  pulls  as  equal 
without  representing  them  as  like  in  kind ;  yet,  since  their 
likeness  in  kind  would  imply  in  the  object  a  sensation  of 
muscular  tension,  which  cannot  be  ascribed  to  it,  we  are 
compelled  to  admit  that  force  as  it  exists  out  of  our  con- 
sciousness, is  not  force  as  we  know  it.  Hence  the  force  of 
which  we  assert  persistence  is  that  Absolute  Force  of  which 
we  are  indefini^^ely  conscious  as  the  necessary  correlate  of  the 


CH.  in.]  COSMIC  THEISM.  415 

force  we  know.  Thus  "by  the  persistence  of  force,  we  really 
mean  the  persistence  of  some  Power  which  transcends  our 
knowledge  and  conception.  The  manifestations,  as  occurring 
either  in  ourselves  or  outside  of  us,  do  not  persist ;  but  that 
which  persists  is  the  Unknown  Cause  of  these  manifesta- 
tions. In  other  words,  asserting  the  persistence  of  force  is 
but  another  mode  of  asserting  an  Unconditioned  Eeality, 
without  beginning  or  end."  Thus  as  "  a  subjective  analysis 
proved  that  while,  by  the  very  conditions  of  thought,  we  are 
prevented  from  knowing  anything  beyond  relative  being; 
yet  that,  by  these  very  same  conditions  of  thought,  an  in- 
definite consciousness  of  Absolute  Being  is  necessitated,— 
so  here,  by  objective  analysis,  we  similarly  find  that  the 
axiomatic  truths  of  physical  science  unavoidably  postulate 
Absolute  Being  as  their  common  basis."* 

Combining,  therefore,  these  mutually  harmonious  results, 
and  stating  the  theorem  of  the  persistence  of  force  in  terms 
of  the  theorem  of  the  relativity  of  knowledge,  we  obtain  the 
following  formula : — There  exists  a  POWEE,  to  v:Mch  no  limit 
in  time  or  space  is  conceivable,  of  which  all  phenomena,  as  pre- 
sented in  consciousness,  are  manifestations,  hut  which  we  can 
know  only  through  these  manifestations.  Here  is  a  formula 
legitimately  obtained  by  the  employment  of  scientific  methods, 
as  the  last  result  of  a  subjective  analysis  on  the  one  hand, 
and  of  an  objective  analysis  on  the  other  hand.  Yet  this 
formula,  which  presents  itself  as  the  final  outcome  of  a 
purely  scientific  inquiry,  expresses  also  the  fundamental 
truth  of  Theism, — the  truth  by  which  religious  feeling  is 
justified.  The  existence  of  God^the  supreme  truth  asserted 
alike  by  Christianity  and  by  inferior  historic  religions — is 
isserted  with  equal  emphasis  by  that  Cosmic  Philosophy 
which  seeks  its  data  in  science  alone.  Thus,  as  Mr.  Lewes 
long  ago  observed,  the  remark  of  Comte,  that  the  heavens 
declare  no  other  glory  than  the  glory  of  Hipparchos  an<i 
*  First  Frincipleg,  pp.  189,  190. 


410  COSMIG  FHILOSOPEY  [pt.  hi. 

Newton,  and  such  others  as  have  aided  in  detecting  the  order 
of  sequence  among  celestial  phenomena,  seems  as  irrational 
to  the  scientific  inquirer  as  it  seems  impious  to  the  reli- 
gious mind.  The  Cosmist  may  assert,  as  consistently  as  the 
Anthropomorphist,  that  "  the  undevout  astronomer  is  mad." 
Though  science  must  destroy  mythology,  it  can  never  destroy 
religion ;  and  to  the  astronomer  of  the  future,  as  well  as 
to  the  Psalmist  of  old,  the  heavens  will  declare  the  glory 
of  God. 

Before  proceeding  further  to  expound  this  theorem,  in 
which  science  and  religion  find  their  reconciliation,  it  is 
desirable  to  turn  aside  for  a  moment  and  contrast  the  views 
here  expounded  with  the  views  maintained  by  Comte  con- 
cerning the  true  object  of  the  religious  feeling.  We  shall 
thus  the  better  elucidate  our  own  position,  while  once  more 
pointing  out  the  world-wide  difference  between  our  philo- 
sophy and  Positivism.  Let  us  examine  the  conception  of 
Deity  formed  by  the  thinker  to  whom  the  heavens  mani- 
fested no  other  glory  than  that  of  Hipparchos  and  Newton 
and  their  compoers. 

Comte  recognized,  though  vaguely,  the  truth  that  while 
the  human  race  in  the  course  of  its  philosophic  evolution 
must  outgrow  theology,  it  can  never  outgrow  religion.  He 
justly  maintained  that,  while  the  conception  of  a  presiding 
q^uasi-human  Will  must  eventually  be  discarded  as  an  in- 
adequate subjective  symbol,  there  will  nevertheless  remain 
to  the  last  the  powerful  sentiment  of  devotion  which  has 
hitherto  attached  itself  to  that  anthropomorphic  conception, 
but  must  finally  attach  itself  to  some  other  conception. 
Throughout  future  time,  while  science  is  supreme,  no  less 
than  in  that  past  tiine  when  mythology  was  supreme,  there 
must  be  a  religion,  and  this  religion  must  have  an  object. 
So  far  the  position  taken  by  Comte  appears  to  be  defensible 
enough.  But  now  when  we  come  to  consider  the  object  of 
the  religious  sentiment  in  Comte's  scheme,  we  must  pro« 


OH.  HI.]  COSMIC  THEISM.  417 

no'ance  his  position  not  only  irreconcilable  with  sound  philo- 
sophy, but  hopelessly  retrograde  as  compared  even  with  the 
current  anthropomorjihism.     Seeing  only  the  negative  side 
of  the  theorem  of  relativity,  and  thus  failing  explicitly  to 
recognize  the  existence  of  that  Absolute  Power  of  which  the 
web  of  phenomena  is  but  the  visible  garment,  he  was  obliged 
to  search  for  his  Deity  in  the  realm  of  the  finite  and  the 
knowable.    Working  under  these  conditions,  the  result  at 
which  he  finally  arrived  appears  to  have  been  legitimately 
evolved  from  the  conceptioD  of  the  aims  and  scope  of  philo- 
sophy v.'hich  he  had  framed  in  early  life,  at  the  very  outset 
of  his  speculations.     The  thinker  who  from  the  beginning 
consistently  occupied  the  anthropocentric  point  of  view,  who 
regarded  philosophy,  not  as  a  unified  theory  of  the  Cosmos, 
but  as  a  unified  theory  of  Man,  who  depreciated  the  develop- 
ment theory  and  the  study  of  sidereal  astronomy  as  interfer- 
ing with  his  anthropocentric  notions,  and  to  whom  the  starry 
heavens  declared  no  glory  save  that  of  finite  men,  arrived 
ultimately  at  the  deification  of  Humanity.     Comte  "refers 
the  obligations  of  duty,  as  well  as  all  sentiments  of  devotion, 
to  a  concrete  object,  at  once  ideal   and  real;    the  Human 
Race,  conceived  as  a  continuous  whole,  including  the  past, 
the  present,  and  the  future."     "  It  may  not  be  consonant  to 
usage,"  observes  Mr.  Mill,  "  to  call  this  a  religion ;  but  the 
term,  so   applied,   has   a   meaning,   and   one  which  is   not 
adequately  expressed  by  any  other  word.     Candid  persons 
of  all  creeds  may  be  willing  to  admit,  that  if  a  person  has 
an  ideal  object,  his  attachment  and  sense  of  duty  towards 
which  are  able  to  control  and  discipline  all  his  other  senti- 
ments and  propensities,  and  prescribe  to  him  a  rule  of  life, 
that  person  has  a  religion.  .  .  .  Many  indeed  may  be  unable 
to  believe  that  this  object  is  capable  of  gathering  around 
tt  feelings  sufficiently  strong :  but  this  is  exactly  the  point 
on  which  a  doubt  can  hardly  remain  in  an  intelligent  reader 
)f  Comte ;  and  we  join  with  him  in  contemning,  as  equally 
VOL.  II.  E  E 


418  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ul 

irrational  and  mean,  the  conception  of  human  nature  as  in- 
capable of  giving  its  love  and  devoting  its  existence  to  any 
object  which  cannot  afford  in  exchange  an  eternity  of  per- 
sonal enjoyment."  ^  "With  the  general  tenour  of  this  passage 
I  heartily  agree.  I  have  no  sympathy  with  those  critics 
who  maintain  that  the  idea  of  Humanity  is  an  unworthy 
idea,  incapable  of  calling  forth  to  a  high  degree  our  senti- 
ments of  devotion  and  reverence.  No  doubt,  as  the  Comtists 
tell  us,  the  majestic  grandeur  of  which  that  idea  is  susceptible 
can  be  realized  only  after  long  and  profound  contemplation. 
And  we  may  perhaps  admit,  with  Mr.  JMill,  that  "  ascend- 
ing into  the  unknown  recesses  of  the  past,  embracing  the 
manifold  present,  and  descending  into  the  indefinite  and 
unforeseeable  future,  forming  a  collective  Existence  without 
assignable  beginning  or  en4,  it  appeals  to  that  feeling  of 
the  Infinite  which  is  deeply  rooted  in  human  nature."  We 
may  still  further  admit  that  all  morality  may  be  summed 
up  in  the  disinterested  service  of  the  human  race, — such 
being,  as  already  shown  (Part  II.  chap,  xxii.),  the  funda- 
mental principle  of  the  ethical  philosophy  which  is  based 
on  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution.  And  it  is,  moreover,  easy 
jO  sympathize  with  the  feeling  which  led  Comte  formally  to 
consecrate  the  memories  of  the  illustrious  dead,  whose 
labours  have  made  us  what  we  are ;  that  "  communion  of 
saints,  unseen  yet  not  unreal,"  as  Carlyle  nobly  expresses 
it,  "  whose  heroic  sufferings  rise  up  melodiously  together 
unto  Heaven,  out  of  all  times  and  out  of  all  lands,  as  a 
sacred  Miserere ;  their  heroic  actions  also,  as  a  boundless 
everlasting  Psalm  of  triumph."  This  intense  feeling  of 
the  community  of  the  human  race,  this  "  enthusiasm  of 
Humanity,"  as  the  author  of  "  Ecce  Homo "  calls  it,  forms 
a  very  considerable  part  of  Christianity  when  stripped  of 
its  mythology,  and  is  o  ne  of  the  characteristics  which  chiefly 

*  Mill,  Auguste  Comte  arid  Positivisyr.,  p.  122. 


en.  111.]  COSMIC  THEISM.  419 

serve  to  difference  the   world-religion  of  Jesus   and    P.iul 
from  the  ethnic  religious  of  antiquity. 

Nevertheless,  after  freely  acknowledging  all  these  pointa 
of  excellence  in  the  Comtean  conception,  it  must  still  be 
maintained  that  Comte's  assignment  of  Humanity  as  the 
direct  object  of  religious  worship  was  a  retrograde  step,  when 
viewed  in  contrast,  not  only  with  the  cosmic  conception  of 
Deity  already  clearly  foreshadowed  by  Goethe,  but  even  with 
the  anthropomorphic  conception  as  held  by  contemporary 
liberal  theologians.  A  fatal  criticism — omitted,  and  appa- 
rently overlooked  by  Mr.  Mill,  in  his  account  of  the  Comtean 
religion — remains  to  be  made  upon  it.  I  do  not  refer  to 
the  difficulty  of  ascribing  godhood  to  a  product  of  evolution, 
neither  is  it  necessary  to  insist  upon  the  marvellous  shading- 
off  of  collective  apehood  into  Deity  which  must  puzzle  the 
Comtist  who  stops  to  confront  his  theory  with  the  conclu- 
sions now  virtually  established  concerning  man's  origin ; 
though  beneath  the  cavil  and  sarcasm  which  cannot  be  kept 
from  showing  itself  upon  the  surface  of  such  objections,  there 
lies  just  scientific  ground  of  complaint  against  the  Comtean 
hypothesis.  The  criticism  to  which  I  refer  is  one  the  force 
of  which  must  be  acknowledged  even  by  those  who  have  not 
yet  learned  to  estimate  the  resistless  weight  of  the  evidence 
by  which  the  development  theory  is  supported.  However 
grand  Humanity  may  be  as  an  object  of  contemplation,  it 
is  still  finite,  concrete,  and  knowable.  It  has  had  a  begin- 
ning; in  all  probability  it  is  destined  to  have  an  end.  We 
can  no  longer,  since  the  Copernican  revolution,  regard  it  as 
the  chief  and  central  phenomenon  of  the  universe.  We 
know  it  but  as  a  local  assemblage  of  concrete  phenomena, 
manifested  on  the  surface  of  a  planet  that  is  itself  a  lesser 
member  of  a  single  group  among  innumerable  groups  of 
worlds.  It  is  no  less  significant  than  amusing  that  toward 
Ibe  last  Comte  would  fain  have  banished  from  astronomy 
not  only  the  study  of  the  stars,  but  even  the  study  of  those 

£  £  2 


420  COSMIC  PHILOSOFHY.  [it.  hi. 

planets  in  our  own  system  which  do  not  considerably  i;/er- 
turb  the  motions  of  the  earth.     He  wished  to  exclude  from 
science    everything   which    does   not    conspicuously   affect 
human  interests,  and  everything  which   by  its   magnitude 
d  varfs  the  conception  of  Humanity.     Far  sounder  would 
hii  views  have  been  liad  he  now  and  then  permitted  his 
thoughts  to  range  to  the  uttermost  imaginable  limits  of  the 
sidereal  universe,  and  brought  himself  duly  to  realize  how 
by  the  comparison  Humanity  quite  loses  its  apparent  infini- 
tude.    Or  had  he  more  carefully  analyzed  tlie  process  of 
human  thinking  itself,  the  study  of  which  he  stigmatized 
as  "metaphysical"  and  profitless,  he  might  perhaps  have 
seen  that  the  world  of  phenomena  speaks  to  us,  everywhere 
and  at  all  times,  if  we  only  choose  to  listen,  of  an  Infinite  and 
Unknowable  Eeality,  whereas  the  conception  of  Humanity 
is  but  the  conception  of  a  Finite  and  Knowable  Pheuomenoa. 
Here  we  touch  the  bottom  of  his  error.     This  great  Being, 
says  the  Comtist,  this  collective  Humanity,  is  our  supreme 
Being, — "  the  only  one  we  can  know,  therefore  the  only  one 
we  can  worship."   On  the  other  hand,  the  Cosmist  asserts,  what 
we  know  is  not  what  we  worsbip ;  what  we  know  is  matter 
of  science ;  it  is  only  when  science  fails,  and  intelligence  is 
baffled,  and   the    Infinite   confronts    us,    that    we   cease    to 
analyze  and  begin  to  worship.     What  men  have  worshipped, 
from  the  earliest  times,  has  been  not  the  Known,  but  the 
Unknown.      Even   the   primeval    savage,   who   worshipped 
plants  and    animals,    worshipped   them   only  in  so  far  as 
their  modes  of  action  were  mysterious  to  him, — only  in  so 
far  as  they  constituted  a  part  of  the  weird  uuinterpreted 
world  by  which  he  was  surrounded.     As  soon  as  he  had 
generalized  the  dynamic  phenomena  presented  by  the  plant 
or  the  animal,  that  is,  as  soon  as  it  became  an  object  of 
knowledge,  it  ceased  to  be  an  object  of  worship.     As  soon  a? 
the  grander  phenomena  of  sunrise  and  sunset,  storm  and 
Bclip»«,  had  been  partially  generalized,  they  were  no  locgei 


OH.  III.]  COSMIC  THEISM.  421 

directly  worshipped,  but  unseen  agents  were  imagined  as 
controlling  the  phenomena  by  their  arbitrary  volitions,  and 
these  agents,  as  being  mysterious,  were  worshipped.  So 
when  polytheism  began  to  give  place  to  monotheism,  the 
process  was  still  the  same.  The  visible  and  tangible  world 
was  recjarded  as  the  aiZ£[reaate  of  things  which  might  be 
understood;  but  above  and  beneath  all  this  was  the  mys- 
terious aspect  of  things — the  Dynamis,  the  Demiurgus,  the 
Cause  of  all,  the  Ruler  of  all — and  this  mighty  Something 
was  worshipped.  Though  theology  has  all  along  wrestled 
with  the  insoluble  problems  presented  by  this  supreme 
Mystery,  and,  by  insisting  on  divers  tangible  propositions 
concerning  it,  has  implicitly  asserted  that  it  can  be  at 
least  partially  known ;  the  fact  remains  that  only  by  being 
unknown  has  it  continued  to  be  the  object  of  the  religious 
sentiment.  Could  the  theologian  have  carried  his  point 
and  constructed  a  "  science  of  Deity ; "  could  the  divine 
nature  have  been  all  expressed  in  definite  formulas,  as  we 
express  the-  genesis  of  vegetation  or  the  revolutions  of 
the  planets,  worship  would  have  disappeared  altogether. 
Worship  is  ever  the  dark  side  of  the  shield,  of  which 
knowledge  is  the  bright  side.  It  is  because  science  can 
never  explain  the  universe,  it  is  because  the  enlarging 
periphery  of  knowledge  does  but  reveal  from  day  to  day  a 
greater  number  of  points  at  which  we  meet  the  unknow- 
able lying  beyond,  that  religion  can  never  become  obsolete. 
Though  we  have  come  to  recognize  the  most  refined  sym- 
bols by  which  men  have  sought  to  render  Deity  intelli- 
gible as  inadequate  and  misleading  symbols ;  though  we 
sacrifice  the  symbol  of  personality,  because  personality  im- 
plies limitation,  and  to  speak  of  an  infinite  personality  is 
to  cheat  oneself  with  a  phrase  that  is  empty  of  meaning; 
yet  our  recognition  of  Deity  is  only  the  more  emphatic, 
Thus  "  the  object  of  religious  sentiment  will  ever  continue 
wO    be    that   which   it    has   ever  been."    The  God    of    tho 


422  COSMIC  FEILOSOPKY.  [pt.  hl 

scientific  philosopher  is  still,  and  must  ever  be,  the  God  of 
the  Christian,  though  freed  from  the  illegitimate  formulas 
by  the  aid  of  which  theology  has  sought  to  render  Deity 
comprehensible.  What  is  this  wondrou?  Dynamis  which 
manifests  itself  to  our  consciousness  in  harmonious  activity 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  and  depth  of  the  uni- 
verse, which  guides  the  stars  for  countless  ages  in  paths 
that  never  err,  and  which  animates  the  molecules  of  the 
dew-drop  that  gleams  for  a  brief  hour  on  the  shaven 
lawn,  —  whose  workings  are  so  resistless  that  we  have 
naught  to  do  but  reverently  obey  them,  yet  so  infallible 
that  we  can  place  our  unshaken  trust  in  them,  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  for  ever?  When,  summing  up  all  activity  in 
one  most  comprehensive  epithet,  we  call  it  Force,  we  are 
but  using  a  scientific  symbol,  expressing  an  affection  of  our 
consciousness,  which  is  yet  powerless  to  express  the  in- 
effable Eeality.  To  us,  therefore,  as  to  the  Israelite  of  old, 
the  very  name  of  Jehovah  is  that  which  is  not  to  be  spoken. 
Push  our  scientific  research  as  far  as  we  may,  pursuing 
generalization  until  all  phenomena,  past,  present,  and  future, 
are  embraced  within  a  single  formula  ;^we  shall  never 
fathom  this  ultimate  mystery,  we  shall  be  no  nearer  the 
comprehension  of  this  omnipresent  Energy.  Here  science 
must  ever  reverently  pause,  acknowledging  the  presence  of 
the  mystery  of  mysteries.  Here  religion  must  ever  hold 
Bway,  reminding  us  that  from  birth  until  death  we  are 
dependent  on  a  Power  to  whose  eternal  decrees  we  must 
submit,  to  whose  dispensations  we  must  resign  ourselves, 
and  upon  whose  constancy  we  may  implicitly  rely. 

Thus  we  begin  to  realize,  more  vividly  than  theology  could 
have  taught  us  to  realize,  the  utter  absurdity  of  atheism. 
Thus  is  exhibited  the  prodigious  silliness  of  Lalande,  who 
informed  mankind  that  he  had  swept  the  heavens  with  his 
telescope  and  found  no  God  there, — as  if  God  were  an  optical 
phenomenon !     Thus,  too,  we   see  the  poverty  of  that  an« 


CH.  iiLj  COSMIC  THEISM.  423 

thropomorphisni  which  represents  the  infinite  Iveity  as  acting 
through  calculation  and  contrivance,  just  as  finite  intelligence 
acts  under  the  limitations  imposed  by  its  environment.  And 
thus,  finally,  we  perceive  the  hopeless  error  of  the  Positivist;, 
who  would  give  us  a  finite  knowable,  like  Humanity,  for  an 
object  of  religious  contemplation.  The  reasoning  which  de- 
monstrates the  relativity  of  knowledge,  demonstrates  also  the 
failure  of  all  such  attempts  to  bind  up  religion  in  scientific 
formulas. 

The  anthropomorphic  theist,  habitually  thinking  of  God 
as  surrounded  and  limited  by  an  environment  or  "  objective 
datum,"  will  urge  that  the  doctrine  here  expounded  is  neither 
more  nor  less  than  Pantheism,  or  the  identification  of  Goci 
with  the  totality  of  existence.  So  plausible  does  this  objec- 
tion appear,  at  first  sight,  that  those  who  urge  it  cannot  fairly 
be  accused  either  of  dulness  of  apprehension  or  of  a  desire 
to  misrepresent.  Nevertheless  it  needs  but  to  look  sharply 
into  the  matter,  to  see  that  the  doctrine  here  expounded  is 
utterly  opposed  to  Pantheism.  Though  the  word  "  pantheism  " 
has  been  almost  as  undiscriminatingly  bandied  about  among 
theological  disputants  as  the  word  '*  atheism,"  it  has  still  a 
well-defined  metaphysical  meaning  which  renders  it  inappli- 
cable to  a  religious  doctrine  based  upon  the  relativity  of 
knowledge.  In  the  pantheistic  hypothesis  the  distinction 
between  absolute  and  phenomenal  existence  is  ignoi  ed,  and 
the  world  of  phenomena  is  practically  identified  \\ith  Deity. 
Of  this  method  of  treating  the  problem  the  final  outcome  is 
to  be  seen  in  the  metaphysics  of  Hegel,  in  which  the  process 
of  evolution,  vaguely  apprehended,  is  described  absolutely, 
as  a  process  of  change  in  the  Deity,  and  in  which  God,  as 
identified  with  the  totality  of  phenomenal  existence,  is  re- 
garded as  \iontinually  progressing  from  a  state  of  comparative 
imperfection  to  a  state  of  comparative  perfection.  Or,  in 
other  words — ^to  reduce  the  case  to  the  shape  in  which  it  was 
piesented  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  work — the  Universe,  as 


424  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  hi. 

identified  with  God,  is  regarded  as  self-evolved,  Such  a 
hypothesis,  equally  with  that  of  the  anthropomorpliic  theist, 
implicitly  limits  Deity  with  an  "objective  datum,"  and  ren- 
ders it  finite ;  for,  as  Mr.  Mansel  has  observed  in  another 
connection,  "how  can  the  Infinite  become  that  which  it  was 
not  from  the  first  ? "  Obviously  for  the  change  an  ulteiior 
Cause  is  needed;  and  thus  the  pantheistic  hypothesis  resolves 
itself  into  the  afiirmation  of  a  limited  Knowable  conditioned 
by  an  unlimited  Unknowable, — but  it  is  the  former,  and  not 
the  latter,  which  it  deifies. 

Hence  to  the  query  suggested  at  the  beginning  of  this 
chapter,  whether  the  Deity  can  be  identified  with  the  Cosmos, 
we  must  return  a  very  different  answer  from  that  returned 
by  the  Pantheist.  The  "  open  secret,"  in  so  far  as  secret,  is 
God, — in  so  far  as  open,  is  the  World ;  but  in  thus  regarding 
the  ever-changing  universe  of  phenomena  as  the  multiform 
revelation  of  an  Omnipresent  Power,  we  can  in  nowise  iden- 
tify the  Power  with  its  manifestations.  To  do  so  would 
reduce  the  entire  argument  to  nonsense.  Prom  first  to  last 
it  has  been  implied  that,  while  the  universe  is  the  mani- 
festation of  Deity,  yet  is  Deity  something  moro  than  the 
universe. 

The  doctrine  which  we  have  here  expounded  is,  therefore, 
neither  more  nor  less  than  Theism,  in  its  most  consistent  and 
unqualified  form.  It  is  quite  true  that  the  word  "  theism," 
as  ordinarily  employed,  connotes  the  ascription  of  an  an- 
thropomorphic personality  to  the  Deity.  But  in  this  conno- 
tation there  has  been  nothing  like  fixedness  or  uniformity. 
On  the  other  hand  the  term  has  become  less  and  less  an- 
thropomorphic in  its  connotations,  from  age  to  age,  and  in 
the  sense  in  which  it  is  here  employed  the  deanthropomor- 
phizing  process  is  but  carried  one  step  farther.  There  was  a 
time  when  theism  seemed  to  require  that  God  should  be 
invested  M/ith  a  quasi-human  body,  just  as  it  now  seema 
to  require  that  God  should  be  invested  with  quasi-human 


OH.  111.1  COSMIC  THEISM.  425 

intelligence  and  volition.  But  for  us  to  concede  the  jus- 
tice of  the  latter  restriction  would  be  as  unphilosophical  aa 
it  would  have  been  for  the  early  monotheists  to  concede 
the  justice  of  the  former.  Just  as  the  early  Christians 
persisted  in  calling  themselves  theists  while  asserting  that 
God  dwells  in  a  temple  not  made  with  hands,  so  may 
the  modern  philosopher  persist  in  calling  himself  a  theist 
while  rejecting  the  arguments  by  which  Voltaire  and  Paley 
have  sought  to  limit  and  localize  the  Deity.  Following  out 
the  parallel,  we  might  characterize  the  doctrine  here  ex- 
pounded as  the  "  higher  theism,"  in  contrast  with  the  "  lower 
theism"  taught  in  the  current  doctrine.  Or  in  conformity 
with  the  nomenclature  which  has  already  done  us  such  good 
service,  we  may  still  better  characterize  it  as  Cosmic  Theism, 
in  contrast  with  the  Anthropomorphic  Theism  of  those  theo- 
logians who  limit  the  Deity  by  an  "objective  datum." 

This  happy  expression  of  Mr.  Martineau's  lays  bare  the 
anthropomorphic  hypothesis  to  the  very  core,  and  when 
thoroughly  considered,  lets  us  into  the  secret  of  that  super- 
ficial appearance  of  antagonism  between  Science  and  Eeligion 
which  has  disturbed  so  many  theologians  and  misled  so  many 
scientific  inquirers.  Though  as  an  act  of  lip-homage  an- 
thropomorphism asserts  the  infinitude  and  omnipotence  of 
God,  yet  in  reality  it  limits  and  localizes  Him,  Though  it 
overtly  acknowledges  that  "  in  Him  we  live  and  move  and 
have  our  being,"  yet  it  tacitly  belies  this  acknowledgment  by 
the  implication,  which  runs  through  all  its  reasonings,  that 
God  is  a  person  localized  in  some  unknown  part  of  space,  and 
thai  the  universe  is  a  "datum  objective  to  God"  in  somewhat 
the  same  sense  that  a  steam-engine  is  an  "  objective  datum  " 
io  the  engineer  who  works  it.  I  do  not  say  that  such  a  con- 
ception would  be  avowed  by  any  theologian  :  as  thus  overtly 
Btated,  it  would  no  doubt  be  generally  met  with  an  emphatic 
disclaimer.  Nevertheless  this  conception,  whether  avowed 
or  disclaimed,  lies  at  tho  bottom  of  all  the  arguments  which 


4S6  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  hi. 

theologians  urge  either  against  the  theory  of  evoh.tion  oi 
against  any  other  theory  which  extends  what  is  called  "  the 
domain  of  natural  law."  Take  away  this  conception,  and  not 
only  do  their  specific  arguments  lose  all  significance,  but  their 
entire  position  becomes  meaningless :  there  ceases  to  be  any 
reason  for  their  opposing  instead  of  welcoming  the  new 
theory.  For  if  "  extending  the  domain  of  natural  law "  be 
equivalent  to  "  extending  our  knowledge  of  Divine  action," 
what  objection  can  the  theologian  logically  make  to  thisi 
Manifestly  his  hostile  attitude  is  wholly  prescribed  by  his 
belief,  whether  tacit  or  avowed,  that  the  sphere  of  natural 
law  and  the  sphere  of  Divine  action  are  two  different  spheres, 
so  that  whatever  is  added  to  the  former  is  taken  from  the 
latter.  It  is  assumed  that  the  universe  is  a  sort  of  lifeless 
machine,  which  under  ordinary  circumstances  works  along 
without  immediate  Divine  superintendence,  in  accordance 
with  what  are  called  natural  laws,  very  much  as  the  steam- 
engine  works  when  once  set  going,  in  accordance  with  the 
harmoniously  cooperating  properties  of  its  material  structure. 
Only  by  occasional  interposition,  it  is  assumed,  does  God 
manifest  his  existence, — by  originating  organic  life,  or  creat- 
ing new  species  out  of  dust  or  out  of  nothing,  or  by  causing 
prodigies  to  be  performed  within  historic  times  for  the  edifi- 
cation of  gaping  multitudes.  So  deep-seated  is  this  assump- 
tion— so  vitally  implicated  is  it  with  all  the  habits  of  thought 
fl'hich  theology  nurtures — that  we  sometimes  hear  it  explicitly 
maintained  tliat  when  natural  law  can  be  shown  to  be  co- 
extensive with  the  whole  of  nature,  then  our  belief  in  God 
will  ipso  facto  be  extinguished. 

Such  a  position  is  no  doubt  as  irreligious  as  it  is  unscien- 
tific ;  but  it  is  not  difdcult  to  see  how  it  has  come  to  be 
so  commonly  maintained.  Not  only  is  it  often  apparently 
justified  by  the  unphilosophical  language  of  scientific  men— 
especially  of  those  shallow  writers  known  as  "  materialists  " 
— who  speak  of  "  natural'  law  "  as  if  it  were  something  dif« 


OH.  III.]  COSMIC  THEISM.  427 

ferenfc  from  "Divine  action;"  but  it  is  also  tlie  logical 
offspring  of  that  primitive  fetishism  from  which  all  our 
theology  is  descended.  For  as  physical  generalization  began 
to  diminisli  the  sphere  of  action  of  the  innumerable  quasi- 
human  agencies  by  wliich  fetishism  sought  to  account  for 
natural  phenomena,  there  could  hardly  fail  to  arise  a  belief 
in  some  sort  of  opposition  between  invariable  law  and  quasi- 
human  agency.  On  the  one  hand  you  have  a  set  of  facts 
that  occur  in  fixed  sequences,  and  so  are  not  the  result  of 
anthropomorphic  volition  ;  on  the  other  hand  you  have  a  set 
of  facts  that  seem  to  occur  according  to  no  determinable 
order,  and  so  are  the  result  of  anthropomorphic  volition. 
The  fetishistic  thinker  could  not,  of  course,  formulate  the 
case  in  this  abstract  and  generalized  way  ;  but  there  can  be 
no  doubt  that  a  crudely  felt  antithesis  of  the  kind  here  indi- 
cated must  have  been  nearly  coeval  with  the  beginnings  of 
physical  generalization.  Now  the  gradual  summing  up  and 
blending  together  of  all  the  primeval  quasi-human  agencies 
into  one  grand  quasi-human  Agency,  could  not  at  once  do 
away  with  this  antithesis.  On  the  contrary,  the  antithesis 
rould  naturally  remain  as  the  generalized  opposition  be- 
tween the  realm  of  "  invariable  law "  and  the  realm  of 
"Divine  originality."  It  would  be  superfluous  to  recount 
the  various  metaphysical  shapes  which  this  conception  has 
assumed,  in  some  of  which  Nature  has  even  been  personified 
as  an  intelligent  and  volitional  agency,  distinct  from  God, 
^nd  working  through  law  while  God  works  through  miracle. 
The  result  has  been  that,  as  scientific  generalization  has 
steadily  extended  the  region  of  "  natural  law,"  the  region 
which  theology  has  assigned  to  "Divine  action"  has  steadily 
diminished,  until  theological  arguments  have  become  insen- 
sibly pervaded  by  the  curious  assumption  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  universe  is  godless.  For  it  is  naively  asked,  if  plants 
and  animals  have  been  naturally  originated,  if  the  world  as 
a  whole  has  been  evolved  and  not  created,  and  if  human 


i28  COSMIC  PMILOSOFHY.  [pt.  hi. 

actions  conform  to  law,  what  is  there  left  for  God  to  do  ?  ^ 

If  not  formally  repudiated,  is  he  not  thrust  back  into  the 
past  eternity,  as  an  unknowable  source  of  things,  which  is 
postulated  for  form's  sake,  but  might  as  well,  for  all  practical 
purposes,  be  omitted? 

The  reply  is  that  the  difficulty  is  one  which  theology  has 
created  for  itself.  It  is  not  science,  but  theology,  which  has 
thrust  back  Divine  action  to  some  nameless  point  in  the 
past  eternity  and  left  nothing  for  God  to  do  in  the  present 
world.  For  the  whole  difficulty  lies  in  the  assumption  of 
the  material  universe  as  a  "  datum  objective  to  God,"  and  in 
the  consequent  distinction  between  "Divine  action"  and 
"  natural  law," — a  distinction  for  which  science  is  in  nowise 
responsible.  The  tendency  of  modern  scientific  inquiry, 
whether  working  in  the  region  of  psychology  or  in  that 
of  transcendental  physics,  is  to  abolish  this  distinction,  and 
to  regard  "  natural  law "  as  merely  a  synonym  of  "  Divine 
action."  And  since  Berkeley's  time  the  conception  of  the 
material  universe  as  a  "  datum  objective  to  God "  is  one 
which  can  hardly  be  maintained  on  scientific  grounds.  It  is 
scientific  inquiry,  working  quite  independently  of  theology, 
which  has  led  us  to  the  conclusion  that  all  the  dynamic 
phenomena  of  Nature  constitute  but  the  multiform  reve- 
lation of  an  Omnipresent  Power  that  is  not  identifiable  with 
Nature.  And  in  this  conclusion  there  is  no  room  left  for 
the  difficulty  which  baffles  contemporary  theology.  The 
scientific  inquirer  may  retort  upon  the  theologian : — Once 
really  adopt  the  conception  of  an  ever-present  God,  without 
whom  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground,  and  it  becomes  self- 

^  "  Illos  omnes  Deum  aut  saltern  Dei  providentiam  tollere  putant,  qui  res 

*t  miraciila  per  cansas  uaturales  explicant  aut  intelligere  student."  Spinoza, 
Tractatus  Theolo'jico-Polilicus,  vi.  Opera,  iii.  86.  "Ou  7<ip  ■fiveixoj'To  rovs 
(pvfftKobs  Kal  fierecopoAiffxas  Tcire  Ka\ovfi4i>ovs,  ws  els  alrlas  d\6'Yovs  koL  Suuifiets 
oirpoi/o-qTOvs  Kal  KaTr\va.yKa(Tixiva  Trddr)  SiarplfiovTas  t6  de7oy."  Plutarch, 
A'H-ii(s,  cap.  23.  The  complaint,  it  will  be  seen,  is  the  same  in  modern  that 
It  was  in  anjient  times.  Compare  Plutarch,  Perikles,  cap.  6;  Cicero,  Tusc 
Disp.  L  13,  02)6ra,  ed.  Nobbe,  torn,  viii,  p.  299. 


CH.  III.]  COSMIC  THEISM.  429 

evident  that  the  law  of  gravitalion  is  but  an  expression  of  a 
particular  mode  of  Divine  action.  And  what  is  thus  true 
of  one  law  is  true  of  all  laws.  The  Anthropomorphist  is 
naturally  alarmed  by  the  continual  detection  of  new  uniformi- 
ties, and  the  discovery  of  order  where  before  there  seemed 
to  be  disorder;  because  his  conception  of  Divine  action  has 
been  historically  derived  from  the  superficial  contrast  be- 
tween the  seemingly  irregular  action  of  will  and  the  more- 
obviously  regular  action  of  less  complex  phenomena.  The 
Cosmist,  on  the  other  hand,  in  whose  mind  Divine  action  is 
identified  with  orderly  action,  and  to  whom  a  really  irregular 
phenomenon  would  seem  like  the  manifestation  of  some 
order-hating  Ahriman,  foresees  in  every  possible  extension 
of  knowledge  a  fresh  confirmation  of  his  faith  in  God,  and 
thus  recognizes  no  antagonism  between  our  duty  as  inquirers 
and  our  duty  as  worshijopers.  He  will  admit  no  such  in- 
herent and  incurable  viciousness  in  the  constitution  of  things 
as  is  postulated  by  the  anthropomorphic  hypothesis.  To  him 
no  part  of  the  world  is  godless.  He  does  not  rest  content 
with  the  conception  of  "  an  absentee  God,  sitting  idle,  ever 
since  the  first  Sabbath,  at  the  outside  of  his  universe, 
and  *  seeing  it  go ; ' "  for  he  has  learned,  with  Carlyle,  "  that 
^his  fair  universe,  were  it  in  the  meanest  province  thereof, 
is  in  very  deed  the  star-domed  City  of  God;  that  through 
every  star,  through  every  grass-blade,  and  most  through  every 
living  soul,  the  glory  of  a  present  God  still  beams."  * 

From  the  anthropomorphic  point  of  view  it  will  quite 
naturally  be  urged  in  objection,  that  this  apparently-desirable 
result  is  reached  through  the  degradation  of  Deity  from  an 

intelligent  pei-sonality  "  into  a  "  blind  force,"  and  is  there- 
fore in  reality  an  undesirable  and  perhaps  even  quasi-atheistic 
result.  To  the  theologian  the  stripping-off  the  anthropomor- 
phic vestments  with  which  men  have  sought  to  render  the 
Infinite  representable  in  imagination,  always  means  the 
^  Sartor  £esartus,  bk.  vL  chap.  viL  ;  bk.  iu.  chap.  viii. 


130  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  hi. 

leaving  of  nothing  but  "  blind  force  "  as  a  residuum.  Trained 
upon  the  subjective  method,  and  habitually  applying  to  all 
propositions  the  test  of  metaphysical  congruity  only,  he 
naturally  regards  the  possibilities  of  human  thought  as  fairly 
representative  of  the  possibilities  of  existence.  Accordingly 
since  human  intelligence  is  the  highest  mode  of  Being  which 
we  know — being  in  the  nature  of  things  the  highest  mode, 
since  it  is  the  mode  in  which  we  ourselves  exist,  and  which 
we  must  therefore  necessarily  employ  as  a  norm  by  which  to 
estimate  all  other  modes — the  theologian  infers  that  any 
higher  mode  of  Being  is  not  only  inconceivable  but  impos- 
sible. And  so,  when  a  vast  extension  of  our  knowledge  of 
nature  shows  (or  seems  to  show)  that  the  workings  of  quasi- 
human  intelligence  form  but  an  inadequate  and  misleading 
symbol  of  the  workings  of  Divine  Power,  it  naturally  seems 
to  the  theologian  that  we  are  giving  up  an  "  intelligent  per- 
sonality "  for  a  "  blind  force." 

Here,  however,  as  before,  the  difficulty  is  one  which 
theology  has  created  for  itself.  It  is  not  science,  but  theo- 
logy, which  conjures  up  a  host  of  phantom  terrors  by  the 
gratuitous  use  of  the  question-begging  epithet  "  blind  force." 
The  use  of  this,  and  of  the  kindred  epithet  '*  brute  matter," 
implies  that  matter  and  force  are  real  existences, — inde- 
pendent "  data  objective  to  "  consciousness.  Such  a  view, 
however,  as  already  shown,  cannot  be  maintained.  To  the 
scientific  inquirer,  the  terms  "matter"  and  "force"  are 
ciere  symbols  which  stand  tant  Men  que  mal  for  certain 
generalized  modes  of  Divine  manifestation :  they  are  no 
more  real  existences  than  the  x  and  y  of  the  algebraist  are 
real  existences.  The  question  as  to  identifying  Deity  with 
Force  is,  therefore,  simply  ruled  out.  The  question  which 
really  presents  itself  is  quite  different.  Theologically 
phrased,  the  question  is  whether  the  creature  is  to  be  taken 
fts  a  measure  of  the  Creator.  Scientifically  phrased,  the 
j^uestion  is  whether  the  highest  form  of  Being  as  yet  sug- 


CH.  III.]  COSMIC  THEISM.  431 

gested  to  one  petty  race  of  creatures  by  its  ephemeral 
experience  of  what  is  going  on  in  one  tiny  corner  of  the 
universe,  is  necessarily  to  be  taken  as  the  equivalent  of 
that  absolutely  highest  form  of  Being  in  which  all  the  pos- 
sibilities of  existence  are  alike  comprehended.  It  is  the 
«ame  question  which  confronted  us  in  our  opening  chapter, 
and  which  returned  to  confront  lis  in  sundry  other  chapters 
of  our  Prolegomena.  Already  we  have  more  than  once 
tnswered  it,  in  a  general  way,  by  showing  that  "  the  possi- 
bilities of  thought  are  not  coextensive  with  the  possibilities 
&f  things."  We  have  now  to  give  it  a  more  special  answer, 
by  inquiring  into  the  possibility  of  a  mode  of  existence  not 
limited  by  the  conditions  which  limit  conscious  existence 
within  the  narrow  domain  of  our  terrestrial  experience.  In 
other  words,  we  have  to  inquire  into  the  relations  between 
Matter  and  Spirit ;  and  the  inquiry,  besides  throwing  light 
on  questions  which  must  have  arisen  in  the  course  of  our 
exposition  of  the  evolution  of  life  and  intelligence,  will  also 
furnish  us  with  the  means  for  emphasizing  the  theistic  con- 
clusions obtained  in  the  present  chapter. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MATTER  AND   SPIRIT. 

It  is  the  usual  lot  of  scientific  writers  who  maintain  theorieb 
which  have  not  yet  "become  popular  with  the  theological 
world,  to  be  accused  of  holding  opinions  which  they  not 
only  do  not  hold,  but  against  which  they  have  perhaps,  on 
every  fitting  occasion,  publicly  and  emphatically  protested. 
Partly,  no  doubt,  such  misrepresentations  arise  from  that 
carelessness  (to  call  it  by  no  worse  name)  which  too  often 
characterizes  the  statements  of  persons  who  have  come  to 
believe  that  the  interests  of  sacred  truth  have  been  com- 
mitted to  them  for  safe  keeping.  Whether  the  truth  in 
q^uestion  derives  its  sacredness  from  time-hallowed  tradition 
or  what  are  called  the  "  higher  instincts  of  our  nature," 
whether  its  self-appointed  guardians  are  conservative  theo- 
logians or  radical  iconoclasts,  extreme  devotion  to  its 
interests  is  liable  to  be  accompanied  by  a  lofty  disregard 
for  that  accuracy  of  statement  which  to  the  scientific  in- 
quirer seems  so  indispensable.  It  appears  to  be  tacitly 
assumed  that  the  interests  of  Truth  in  the  abstract  can  be 
rightly  subserved  only  by  the  sacrifice  of  divers  humble 
concrete  truths.  Abundant  evidence  of  this  is  to  be  found 
in  the  tracts  and  speeches  of  "teetotalers,"  "labour  re- 
former-j/'  "  friends  of  the  People,"  and  other  sentimentalista 


SH.  IV.]  MATTER  AND  SPIRIT.  433 

As  regards  theologians,  a  great  deal  is  to  be  said  in  behalf 
of  their  intolerance  of  opinions  which  they  honestly  believe 
to  be  fraught  with  spiritual  and  moral  evil.  But  this  zeal 
in  the  cause  of  Truth  too  often  betrays  them  into  misrepre- 
sentations which  suggest  that  the  maxim  Nulla  fides  cum 
licereticis  has  not  yet  been  completely  expunged  from  their 
moral  code.  Especially  in  the  use  of  unpopular  question- 
begging  epithets  they  are  by  no  means  sufficiently  scru- 
pulous. Such  epithets  as  "  materialism "  and  "  atheism," 
being  extremely  unpopular,  have  long  been  made  to  do 
heavy  duty  in  lieu  of  argument.  In  this  sort  of  barbaric 
warfare  the  term  "  materialism "  is  especially  convenient, 
by  reason  of  a  treacherous  ambiguity  in  its  connotations. 
Certain  abstract  theorems  of  metaphysics  are  correctly 
described  as  constituting  materialism  ;  and  the  persons  who 
assert  them  are  correctly  called  materialists.  On  the  other 
hand,  those  persons  are  popularly  called  materialists  who 
allow  their  actions  to  be  guided  by  the  desires  of  the 
moment,  witliout  reference  to  any  such  rule  of  right  living 
as  is  termed  a  "  high  ideal  of  life."  Persons  who  worship 
nothing  but  worldly  success,  who  care  for  nothing  but 
wealth,  or  fashionable  display,  or  personal  celebrity,  or 
sensual  gratification,  are  thus  loosely  called  materialists. 
The  term  can  therefore  easily  be  made  to  serve  as  a  poisoned 
weapon,  and  there  are  theologians  who  do  not  scruple  to 
employ  it  as  such  against  the  upholders  of  philosophic 
opinions  which  they  do  not  like  but  are  unable  to  refute.  A 
most  flagrant  instance  was  recently  afforded  by  a  lecturer 
on  Positivism,  who,  after  insinuating  that  pretty  much  the 
whole  body  of  contemporary  scientific  philosophers  are 
Positivists,  and  that  Positivists  are  but  very  little  better 
than  materialists,  proceeded  to  inform  his  audience  that 
'materialists"  are  men  who  lead  licentious  lives. 

It  would  be  hard   to  find  words  strong  enough  to  cha- 
racterize  the   villany   of  such    misrepresentations  as  this 

TOL.  n.  F  F 


434  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  in. 

could  we  fairly  suppose  them  to  be  deliberately  intended. 
They  would  imply  extreme  moral  turpitude,  were  it  not 
that  they  are  so  obviously  the  product  of  extreme  sloven- 
liness of  thinking  joined  witli  culpable  carelessness  of  as- 
sertion. The  chain  of  ill-conceived  arguments  upon  which 
they  depend  is  something  like  this  : — Every  attempt  to 
interpret  the  succession  of  mental  phenomena  by  means  oi 
theorems  originally  devised  to  interpret  the  movements  of 
matter,  involves  the  assertion  of  materialism  ;  the  assertion 
cf  materialism  involves  the  denial  of  personal  immortality; 
the  denial  of  personal  immortality  deprives  morality  of  its 
principal  sanction,  and  prevents  us  from  having  any  higher 
ideal  of  life  than  the  gratification  of  egoistic  desires ;  ergo, 
we  are  justified  in  insinuating  that  philosophers  who  inter- 
pret mental  manifestations  by  a  reference  to  material  struc- 
ture are  likely  to  be  men  of  loose  morals.  Such  is  the  tacit 
argument  which  underlies  this  kind  of  theological  misrepre- 
sentation ;  and  in  pity  for  the  mental  confusion  which  it 
implies,  we  may  perhaps  condone  or  overloolc*  the  bigotry 
which  assists  in  disguising  its  flimsiness.  In  truth,  a  more 
atriking  example  of  the  audacity  of  the  subjective  method 
could  not  well  be  found.  Not  one  of  the  premises  from 
which  so  startling  a  conclusion  is  drawn  has  been  verified ; 
and  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  each  one  involves 
a  non  seqiiitur.  It  might  be  shown  that  the  denial  of  per- 
sonal immortality  does  not  deprive  morality  of  its  principal 
sanction,  or  prevent  us  from  having  any  higher  ideal  of  life 
than  the  gratification  of  egoistic  desires.  And  it  might  be 
forcibly  argued  that  the  denial  of  personal  immortality  has 
by  no  means  been  proved  to  be  an  inevitable  corollary  from 
tho  assertion  of  materialism,  though  it  may  freely  be  ad- 
mitted to  be  a  probable  corollary.  But  with  these  two  un- 
verified inferences  we  are  not  now  especially  concerned. 
What  concerns  us  is  the  initial  non  sequitur, — that  every 
attempt  to  interpret  mental  manifestations  by  a  reference 


en.  iv.J  MATTER  AND  SPIRIT.  4&i 

to  material  structure  involves  the  assertion  of  materialism. 
This  is  the  non  sequitur  which  lies  at  the  very  bottom  of  the 
theological  misrepresentation,  and  its  utter  fallaciousness 
needs  to  be  thoroughly  exposed. 

It  would  be  grossly  unjust  to  throw  all  the  blame  of  this 
particular  non  sequitur  upon  the  theologians,  who  have 
enough  logical  delinquencies  of  their  own  to  answer  for, 
without  being  required  to  carry  the  burden  of  their  adver- 
saries' errors  into  the  bargain.  The  illegitimate  inference  is 
one  which  scientific  writers,  and  philosophers  of  a  certain 
school,  have  been  quite  as  ready  to  make  as  theologians  : 
indeed,  I  believe  it  was  the  former  who  first  suggested  it  to  the 
latter.  At  all  events,  without  going  into  historical  minutiae 
concerning  the  origin  of  materialism,  but  confining  our 
attention  to  its  more  recent  scientific  phases,  we  may  observe 
that  it  was  not  a  theologian,  but  an  eminent  man  of  science, 
who  first  suggested  that  the  results  of  modern  objective 
psychology  might  be  represented  in  the  formula,  Ohne 
Phosphor  kein  Gedanke.  This  formula  has  been  caught  up 
as  a  watchword  by  a  school  of  atheistic  writers,  some  of 
whom,  as  jNIolescliott  and  Vogt,  rank  very  high  as  scientific 
specialists,  but  none  of  whom  seem  to  be  worthy  of  mention 
for  psychological  capacity  or  for  acquaintance  with  the  best 
thoughts  of  modern  philosophy.  The  most  conspicuous 
representative  of  this  school  is  Dr.  Btichner, — a  writer  who 
deserves  praise  for  his  power  of  lucid  exposition,  but  whose 
pages  are  too  often  deformed  with  brutalities  of  expression  for 
which  no  atonement  is  made  in  the  shape  of  original  or 
valuable  thought.  Although  this  writer  has  no  scientific 
reputation  whatever,  and  although  his  school  has  no  more 
claim  to  rank  with  the  great  schools  of  philosophy  in  our 
time  than  it  had  when  the  now- forgotten  Lamettrie  repre- 
j)ented  it  in  the  days  of  Hume  and  Kant,  yet  througii 
loudness  of  asseveration  it  has  succeeded  in  doing  much  to 
jnislead  and  perplex  the  public  mind  with  reference  to  the 

F  F  2 


436  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  in. 

philosophic  results  of  recent  scientific  inquiry.  Because  Dr. 
Biichner  and  his  followers  point  to  certain  discoveries  in 
nervous  physiology  or  in  transcendental  physics  as  evidence 
of  the  materiality  of  mind,  it  has  come  to  be  currently 
supposed  that  those  scientific  inquirers  who  accept  the  dis- 
coveries accept  also  the  materialistic  inference.  And  because 
the  ablest  scientific  inquirers,  being  more  occupied  in  hunting 
for  truths  than  in  looking  about  for  ugly  consequences,  have 
seldom  said  anything  on  either  side  of  the  question,  their 
silence  has  been  interpreted  as  equivalent  to  assent,  both  by 
the  materialists  and  by  the  theologians.  Energetic  protests, 
however,  have  been  made  against  this  erroneous  interpreta- 
tion, by  Prof.  Tyndall  on  the  part  of  molecular  physics,  and 
by  Prof  Huxley  on  the  part  of  physiology ;  while  Mr. 
Spencer  has  most  conclusively  demonstrated  that,  from  the 
scientific  point  of  view,  the  hypothesis  of  the  materialists  is 
not  only  as  untenable  to-day  as  it  has  ever  been,  but  must 
always  remain  inferior  in  philosophic  value  to  the  opposing 
spiritualistic  hypothesis.  Let  us  look  at  some  of  the  argu- 
ments which  necessitate  this  conclusion. 

"No  thought  without  phosphorus!"  This  remark  of 
Moleschott's  has  been  called  a  "  trenchant  "  remark.  To  me 
it  seems  a  very  barren  piece  of  truism.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  a  century  hence,  the  fact  that  such  a  remark  should 
nave  been  regarded  either  as  a  valuable  novelty  or  as  an 
alarming  heresy,  will  be  cited  in  evidence  of  the  intellectual 
dulness  of  our  time.  If  the  aphorism  is  not  restricted  to 
the  conditions  under  which  thinking  occurs  within  the  limits 
of  our  experience,  it  is  merely  an  audacious  assertion,  not 
worthy  of  serious  refutation.  If  it  is  thus  restricted,  it 
becomes  a  mere  platitude.  Within  the  limits  of  our  ex- 
perience no  one  supposes  that  thinking  is  done  without  a 
jody.  No  philosopher  of  any  school  whatever,  theological 
or  scientific,  maintains  that,  during  the  period  of  human  life 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  consciousness  without  biain.     None 


OH.  IV.]  MATTER  AND  SPIRIT.  437 

will  assert,  tliat,  under  terrestrial  conditions,  we  have  any 
experience  of  psychical  manifestation  apart  from  physical 
structure.  "When,  therefore,  some  speculative  physiologist 
singles  out  one  of  the  most  important  chemical  ingredients 
of  brain-substance,  and  tells  us  that  there  is  no  thinking 
done  without  that  chemical  ingredient,  we  have  no  good 
ground  either  for  rejoicing  over  increased  wisdom,  or  for 
alarm  at  possible  conclusions.  The  conclusions  to  be  drawn, 
whatever  they  may  be,  remain  just  the  same  as  before. 
Vision  is  essentially  a  p.sychical  process ;  yet  no  one  pretends 
that  vision  can  be  accomplished  without  an  eye.  If  I  were 
to  proclaim  on  the  house-tops,  "  No  vision  without  retinal 
rods,"  would  not  the  common-sense  of  mankind  either  rebuke 
my  audacity  in  pretending  that  I  had  got  possession  of  a 
new  and  wonderful  truth,  or  derisively  inquire  my  reasons 
for  making  so  much  outcry  over  such  a  manifest  platitude? 

The  case  remains  entirely  unaltered  when  we  come  to  such 
a  minute  comparison  of  psychical  manifestation  and  brain- 
action  as  was  indicated  in  our  chapter  on  the  Evolution  of 
Mind.  Whatever  theory  be  held  with  regard  to  a  future 
life,  he  who  admits  that  during  the  present  life  mental 
action  in  the  gross  is  correlated  with  brain- action  in  the 
gross,  can  in  no  wise  complain  of  an  attempt  to  trace  out 
the  detailed  correlations  between  mental  action  in  the  little 
and  brain-action  in  the  little.  If  the  brain  is  the  organ  of 
Mind,  and  if  the  daily  manifestations  of  Mind,  in  all  their 
complexity,  are  conditioned  by  the  possession  of  such  a 
complex  organ,  then  the  simple  ultimate  elements  of  which 
the  complex  mental  manifestations  are  made  up,  must  be 
severally  conditioned  by  the  simple  ultimate  elements,  struc- 
tural and  functional,  which  make  up  the  complex  organ  and 
its  molecular  activities.  In  proceeding  to  trace  out  these 
simple  ultimate  correlations,  we  are  merely  analyzing  two 
complicated  groups  of  phenomena  into  their  elements,  in 
order  that  we  may  arrive  at  a  better  practical  understanding 


i38  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [n.  ni. 

of  them ;  and  at  the  end  of  our  inquiry  we  no  more  stand 
conimitt(id  to  any  conclusion  regarding  the  real  nature  of 
either  group  than  we  did  at  the  beginning.  When  we  admit 
that  a  blow  on  the  head  is  likely  to  make  a  man  insensible, 
we  are  just  as  much  or  just  as  little  materialists  as  when  we 
suggest  the  hypothesis  that  cerebral  inflammation,  by  ob- 
structing certain  particular  transit-lines,  may  prevent  certain 
particular  associations  of  ideas  and  thus  obliterate  certain 
specific  memories.  Repeating  Mr.  Spencer's  words,  we  may 
say  that  "  the  general  relation  between  mental  manifestations 
and  material  structure  traced  out  [in  this  work],  has  implica- 
tions identical  with,  and  no  wider  than,  those  which  familiar 
experiences  thrust  upon  us."  In  objective  psychology,  as  in 
other  departments  of  inquiry,  science  is  but  an  extension 
of  common  knowledge.  "  That  drowsiness  impedes  thinking, 
that  wine  excites  or  stupefies  according  to  amount  and  cir- 
cumstances, that  great  loss  of  blood  produces  temporary  un- 
consciousness,— are  facts  admitted  by  everyone,  be  his  theory 
of  things  what  it  may.  That  you  cannot  get  out  of  the 
undeveloped  child  tlioughts  and  feelings  like  those  you  get 
out  of  the  developed  man ;  that  the  idiot,  with  brain  perma- 
nently arrested  in  its  growth,  remains  permanently  incapable 
of  any  but  the  simplest  mental  actions ;  are  propositions  not. 
denied  by  the  most  intemperate  reviler  of  physiological  psy- 
chology. But  one  who  recognizes  such  facts  and  propositions 
is  just  as  much  chargeable  with  materialism  as  one  who  puts 
together  facts  and  propositions  like  those  which  constitute 
the  exposition  [of  psychical  phenomena  contained  in  this 
work].  Whoever  grants  that  from  the  rudimentary  con- 
sciousness implied  by  the  vacant  stare  of  the  infant,  up  tc 
the  quickly  apprehensive,  far-seeing,  and  variously-feeling 
consciousness  of  the  adult,  the  transition  is  through  slow 
steps  of  mental  progress  that  accompany  slow  steps  of  bodilj 
progress,  tacitly  asserts  the  same  relation  of  Mind  and  Mattel 
which  is  asserted  by  one  who  traces  out  the  evolution  of  the 


CH.  IV.]  MATTER  AND  SPIRIT.  439 

nervoas  system  and  the  accompanying  evolution  of  intelli- 
gence, from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  forms  of  life."^ 

It  appears,  therefore,  that,  so  far  as  objective  psychology  is 
concerned,  but  little  support  has  as  yet  been  obtained  for  the 
materialistic  hypothesis.  The  most  that  psychology,  work- 
ing with  the  aid  of  physiology,  has  thus  far  achieved,  hai 
been  to  show  that,  within  the  limits  of  our  experience,  ther** 
is  an  invariaUe  concomitance  between  psychical  phenomena 
and  the  phenomena  of  nervous  action ;  and  this,  as  we  have 
seen,  is  but  the  elaborate  analytic  statement  of  a  plain  truth, 
which  is  asserted  alike  by  philosophers  of  every  school  and 
by  the  common-sense  of  every  human  being, — namely,  that 
from  birth  until  death  there  is  no  manifestation  of  Mind 
except  in  association  with  Body.  But  beyond  this  it  is  quite 
clear  that  objective  psychology  can  never  go.  The  most  that 
psychology,  working  with  the  aid  of  physiology,  can  ever 
achieve,  will  be  to  show  the  invariable  concomitance  between 
nervous  and  psychical  phenomena,  within  the  limits  of  our 
experience.  The  most  it  can  ever  do  will  be  to  illustrate, 
wiih  more  and  more  minute  detail,  that  same  proposition  in 
asserting  which  it  has  been  from  the  outset  upheld  by  the 
universal  consent  of  mankind.  To  enlarge  the  scope  of  that 
proposition,  to  add  to  it  new  ulterior  implications,  must  for 
ever  remain  beyond  its  power.  Or  if  this  is  still  not  per- 
fectly clear,  the  kindred  considerations  now  to  be  drawn  from 
the  study  of  transcendental  physics  will  make  it  clear. 

It  has  been  not  uncommonly  taken  for  granted,  both  by 
materialists  and  by  theologians,  that  molecular  physics,  in 
establishing  a  quantitative  correlation  between  the  various 
modes  of  motion  manifested  throughout  organic  and  in- 
organic nature,  has  supplied  a  basis  whereon  to  found  some 
theory  of  the  materiality  of  Mind.  Here,  as  before,  the 
theologians  have  accepted  the  materialistic  inference  and 
aimed  theii  assaults  at  the  irrefragable  scientific  theorem, 
*  Principles  of  Psychology,  voL  i  p.  617. 


140  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  in, 

instead  of  admitting  the  scientific  theorem  and  sho  tving  that, 
when  rightly  understood,  it  does  not  afford  a  premise  for  the 
materialistic  inference,  Mr.  Spencer  pithily  remarks  that 
the  one  class  show  by  their  fears,  quite  as  much  as  the  others 
show  by  their  hopes,  that  they  believe  in  the  theoretical 
possibility  ot  resolving  mental  phenomena  into  motions  of 
matter ;  whereas  those  who  really  comprehend  the  import  of 
modern  discoveries  in  molecular  physics  are  more  thoroughly 
convinced  than  ever  that  any  such  reduction  is  utterly 
beyond  the  bounds  of  possibility.  A  brief  consideration  will 
suffice  to  show  us  that  one  of  the  great  results  of  the  dis- 
covery of  the  correlation  of  forces  is  the  final  destruction  of 
the  central  argument  by  which  materialism  has  sought  to 
maintain  its  position.  Henceforth  the  spiritualistic  hypo- 
thesis may,  perhaps,  be  still  regarded  as  on  trial,  in  so  far  as 
it  needs  much  further  explanation  and  limitation ;  but  the 
materialistic  hypothesis  is  doomed  irretrievably. 

For  let  us  note  well  what  is  implied  in  the  assertion  that 
sun-derived  radiance  is  metamorphosed,  first  into  the  static 
energy  of  vegetable  tissue,  and  afterwards  into  the  dynamic 
energy  which  maintains  the  multiform  activity  of  the  animal 
organism ;  and  that  through  the  liberation  of  a  part  of  such 
dynamic  energy,  in  the  form  of  discharges  between  inter- 
connected ganglia,  there  are  rendered  possible  the  pheno- 
mena of  conscious  activity.^  Let  us  endeavour  to  mark  out 
precisely  what  is  meant  by  this  assertion.  In  its  present 
form  it  is  a  concrete  statement,  based  upon  the  abstract 
truths  that,  within  the  limits  of  our  experience,  any  given 
species  of  motion  whatever  has  acquired  its  distinctive  attri- 
butes through  transformation  from  some  other  species,  and 
will  again  lose  these  distinctive  attributes  through  a  subse- 
quent transformation.  For  example,  the  heat  which  now 
raises  the  temperature  of  a  pound  of  water  just  one  degree 
of  Fahrenheit,  has   acquired  its  present  form  of  existence 

^  See  above,  ToL  L  pp.  411,  418. 


CH.  IV.]  MATTER  AND  SPIRIT.  441 

through  the  transformation  of  as  much  molar  motion  as  is 
implied  in  the  fall  of  772  pounds  of  matter  through  one  foot 
of  space ;  and  it  will  lose  its  present  form  of  existence  as 
fast  as  it  is  retransformed  into  molar  motion  of  expan- 
sion, or  into  other  modes  of  molecular  motion,  according  to 
superinduced  circumstances.  So  when  food  is  taken  into  the 
organism  and  assimilated  with  the  tissues,  the  quantity  of 
molecular  motion  involved  in  the  secretion  of  bile  by  the 
liver,  or  in  the  raising  of  the  arm  by  an  act  of  will,  or  in  the 
knitting  of  a  new  plexus  of  associated  ideas  by  the  opening 
of  new  communications  between  brain-cells,  may  equally  be 
said  to  have  acquired  its  present  specific  forms  through 
transformation  from  the  potential  motion  latent  in  the  pre- 
pared food.  So  we  may  say,  very  roughly,  that  there  is  a 
metamorphosis  of  molar  motion  into  heat  and  actinism;  of 
heat  and  actinism  into  the  potential  motion  latent  in  the 
nutriment  ultimately  derived  from  sun-nourished  vegetable 
tissues ;  of  this  potential  motion  into  undulations  among  the 
molecules  of  nerve ;  of  these  undulations  back  into  molar 
motions  of  the  muscles  which  move  limbs,  or  into  mole- 
cular motions  of  secreting  glands,  and  so  on,  in  a  never- 
ending  circuit.  The  circuit  is  thus  very  roughly  described, 
but  such  is  essentially  its  character.  But  now  let  us  note 
that  throughout  this  wondrous  circuit,  from  molar  motion  to 
molecular  nerve-motion,  and  back  again  to  molar  motion, 
there  is  no  question  of  Mind  whatever.  The  metamorphosis 
is  always  from  one  species  of  material  motion  into  some 
jther  species  of  material  motion,  but  never  from  a  species 
of  material  motion  into  an  idea  or  a  feeling.  The  dynamic 
circuit  is  absolutely  complete  without  taking  psychical 
manifestations  into  the  account  at  alL  Now  obviously 
the  most  that  molecular  physics  can  ever  accomplish 
will  bs  to  point  out,  in  more  and  more  minute  detail,  the 
characteristics  of  the  various  metamorphoses  which  occur 
within  the  limits  of  this  circuit.     The  ideal  goal  of  physical 


442  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [fi.  hi. 

incfaiiy  would  be  to  furnish  algebraic  equations  for  every 
curve  described  by  every  particle  of  matter  during  the  entire 
series  of  transformations,  from  the  arrested  molar  motions  of 
the  gravitating  particles  of  the  sun,  down  to  the  endlessly- 
complex  molecular  motions  which  take  place  within  the 
cerebral  tissue  of  a  mathematician  engaged  in  solving  partial 
differential  equations.  However  stupendous  such  an  achieve- 
ment may  seem  to  us  who  are  as  yet  in  the  callow  infancy 
of  scientific  inquiry,  there  is  nevertheless  no  radical  ab- 
surdity involved  in  conceiving  it  as  theoretically  possible. 
But  now  let  us  suppose  all  this  actually  achieved.  Let  us 
suppose  physical  inquiry  to  have  reached  its  uttermost  con- 
ceivable limit,  having  reduced  the  whole  problem  of  motion, 
in  all  its  myriad  manifestations,  in  both  inorganic  and 
organic  nature,  to  a  purely  algebraic  problem,  for  the  solu- 
tion of  which  the  requisite  algebraic  devices  are  at  hand ; 
and  let  us  consider  what  we  have  thus  achieved.  Have  we 
made  the  first  step  toward  the  resolution  of  psychical  pheno- 
mena into  modes  of  motion  ?  Obviously  we  have  not.  The 
closed  circuit  of  motion,  motion,  motion,  remains  just  what 
it  was  before.  No  conceivable  advance  in  physical  discovery 
can  get  us  out  of  this  closed  circuit,  and  into  this  circuit 
psychical  phenomena  do  not  enter.  Psychical  phenomena 
stand  outside  this  circuit,  ^parallel  with  that  brief  segment  of 
it  which  is  made  up  of  molecular  motions  in  nerve-tissue. 
However  strict  the  parallelism  may  be,  within  the  limits  of 
our  experience,  between  the  phenomena  of  mind  and  this 
segment  of  the  circuit  of  motions,  the  task  of  transcending 
or  abolishing  the  radical  antithesis  between  the  phenomena 
of  mind  and  the  phenomena  of  motions  of  matter,  must 
always  remain  an  impracticable  task.  For  in  order  to 
transcend  or  abolish  this  radical  antithesis,  we  must  be  pre- 
pared to  show  how  a  given  quantity  of  molecular  motion  in 
nerve-tissiie  can  become  transformed  into  a  definable  amount 
of  ideation  or  feeling.     But  this,  it  is  qui;e  safe  to  say,  can 


CH.  IV.]  MATTER  AND  SPIRIT.  443 

never  be  done.  Free  as  we  were,  a  moment  ngo,  to  aclmit 
the  boundless  possibilities  of  scientific  inquiry  in  one  direc- 
tion, we  may  here  at  once  mark  the  bounds  beyond  which, 
in  another  direction,  scientific  inquiry  cannot  advance. 

For  m  the  last  resort  it  is  subjective  psychology  which 
must  render  the  decisive  verdict  as  to  the  possibility  of 
identifying  feeling  with  motion ;  and  to  obtain  this  decisive 
verdict  there  is  but  one  legitimate  way.  By  a  physical 
analysis  we  must  ascertain  what  is  the  primordial  element 
in  motion,  and  by  a  psychological  analysis  we  must  ascertain 
what  is  the  primordial  element  in  feeling ;  it  must  then  be 
left  for  consciousness  to  decide  whether  these  two  primordial 
elements  are  or  are  not  in  such  wise  like  each  other  that  the 
one  may  be  substituted  for  the  other  indifferently  ;  and  from 
this  verdict  there  can,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  be  no  appeal. 
Now  it  would  be  very  rash  to  suppose  that  we  have  as  yet 
arrived  at  a  knowledge  of  the  primordial  unit,  either  of 
motion  or  of  feeling :  still  we  have  made  an  approximation 
sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  the  present  argument.  Our 
analysis  has  progressed  so  far  as  to  enable  us  to  foresee  the 
verdict,  and  to  rest  assured  that  further  analysis  will  reiterate 
and  not  reverse  it.  In  the  chapter  on  the  Composition  of 
Mind,  we  saw  that  "  the  physical  action  which  accompanies 
psychical  changes  is  an  undulatory  displacement  of  molecules, 
resulting  in  myriads  of  little  waves  or  pulses  of  movement." 
We  saw  also  that,  "  as  a  cognizable  state  of  consciousness  is 
attended  by  the  transmission  of  a  number  of  little  waves 
•rom  one  nerve-cell  to  another,  so  the  ultimate  psychical 
elements  of  each  conscious  state  must  correspond  to  the 
passage  of  these  little  waves  taken  one  by  one."  And  we 
were  "  led  to  infer,  as  the  ultimate  unit  of  which  Mind  is 
composed,  a  simple  psychical  shock,  answering  to  that  simple 
^physical  ^pulsation  which  is  the  ultimate  unit  of  nervous 
action."*      Here,    then,   are    our    approximately-primordia? 

*  See  above,  p.  131, 


144  '  COSMIC  PEILOSOPHT.  [pt.  iii. 

elements, — on  the  one  hand  a  psychical  shock  as  the  basis 
of  all  consciousness,  on  the  other  hand  a  physical  pulsation 
as  the  basis  of  all  that  molecular  motion  of  which  nervous 
action  is  a  species.  It  is  now  for  consciousness  to  decide, 
upon  direct  inspection,  whether  a  psychical  shock  is  so  much 
like  a  physical  pulsation  that  in  a  given  series  of  propositions 
the  one  term  might  be  substituted  for  the  other.  "  Can  we, 
then,  think  of  the  subjective  and  objective  activities  as  the 
same  ?  Can  the  oscillation  of  a  molecule  be  represented  in 
consciousness  side  by  side  with  a  [psychical]  shock,  and  the 
two  be  recognized  as  one  ?  No  effort  enables  us  to  assimilate 
them.  That  a  unit  of  feeling  has  nothing  in  common  with  a 
unit  of  motion,  becomes  more  than  ever  manifest  when  we 
bring  the  two  into  juxtaposition.  And  the  immediate  verdict 
of  consciousness  thus  given,  might  be  analytically  justified 
were  this  a  fit  place  for  the  needful  analysis.  For  it  might 
he  shown  that  the  concejjtion  of  an  oscillating  molecule  is  huilt 
out  of  many  units  of  feeling ;  and  that  to  identify  it  with  a 
[psychical]  shock  would  he  to  identify  a  whole  congeries  of  units 
with  a  single  unit."^ 

Thus  we  were  fully  justified  in  stating  that  through  no 
imaginable  future  advance  in  molecular  physics  can  the 
materialists  ever  be  enabled  to  realize  their  desideratum  of 
translating  mental  phenomena  in  terms  of  matter  and  motion. 
We  were  right   in   hinting  that   one  grand  result   of  the 

*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  L  p.  158.  I  have  taken  the 
liberty  to  alter  Mr.  Spencer's  metaphorical  phrase  "nervous  shock"  into 
the  more  literally  accurate  phrase  "psychical  shock."  The  term  "nervous 
shock,"  though  partially  justified  by  the  colloquial  use  of  the  word  '*  ner- 
vous "  in  deiscription  of  psychical  states  (as  when  we  speak  of  feeling  nervcns 
or  flighty),  is  nevertheless  a  bad  term  in  an  argument  like  the  present,  where 
the  stric'^st  accuracy  is  above  all  things  desirable.  For  besides  this  psycho- 
logical use  of  it,  the  term  "nervous  shock"  is  used  in  physiology  in  a  sense 
itrictly  synonymous  with  one  kind  of  "physical  pulsation."  So  that,  to 
those  who  pay  more  attention  to  an  author's  slips  of  expression  than  to  his 
nanifest  meaning,  the  term  may  seem  to  contain  the  materialistic  implica- 
tions which  it  is  the  express  purpose  of  Mr.  Spencer's  argument  to  avoid. 
Any  such  misapprehension  is  impossible  if  we  substitute  the  term  "psychical 
Bhock." — (Mr.  Spencer  authorizes  me  to  add  that  he  thoroughly  approver  cf 
this  emendation.) 


IH.  IT,]  MATTER  AND  SPIRIT.  44» 

enormous  progress  achieved  during  the  past  forty  years  in 
the  analysis  of  both  physical  and  psychical  phenomena,  has 
been  the  final  and  irretrievable  overthrow  of  the  materialistic 
hypothesis.  Henceforth  we  may  rogard  materialism  as  ruled 
out,  and  relegated  to  that  limbo  of  crudities  to  which  we 
some  time  since  consigned  the  hypothesis  of  special  creations. 
The  latest  results  of  scientific  inquiry,  whether  in  the  region 
of  objective  psychology  or  in  that  of  molecular  physics,  leave 
the  gulf  between  Mind  and  Matter  quite  as  wide  as  il  was 
judged  to  be  in  the  time  of  Descartes.  It  still  remains  as 
true  as  then,  that  between  that  of  which  the  differential 
attribute  is  Thought  and  that  of  which  tlie  differential  attri- 
bute is  Extension,  there  can  be  nothing  like  identity  or 
similarity.  Although  we  have  come  to  see  that  between 
the  manifestations  of  the  two  there  is  such  an  unfailing 
parallelism  that  the  one  group  of  phenomena  can  be  correctly 
described  by  formulas  originally  invented  for  describing  the 
other  group,  yet  all  that  has  been  established  is  this  paral- 
lelism. When  it  comes  to  the  task  of  making  the  parallels 
meet,  we  are  no  better  off  than  Malebranche  with  his  Occa- 
sional Causes,  or  Leibnitz  with  his  Pre-establislied  Harmony  : 
nay,  we  are  no  better  off  than  the  ancient  Gnostics,  with 
their  "aeons"  and  their  "Demiurge."  Eich  as  are  the 
harvests  which  science  has  obtained  from  these  two  fields, 
the  fence  which  divides  them  has  never  been  broken  down ; 
and  until  the  insuperable  distinction  between  Subject  and 
Object,  between  the  Conscious  and  the  Unconscious,  can  be 
transcended,  it  can  never  be  broken  down. 

But  while  the  materialistic  hypothesis  is  thus  irretrievably 
doomed,  it  is  otherwise  with  the  opposing  spiritualistic  hypo- 
thesis. It  is  true  that  we  cannot  directly  translate  Matter  in 
terms  of  Spirit,  any  more  than  we  can  translate  Spirit  in 
terms  of  ]\Iatter.  But  we  have  seen  that  the  terui  "  matter  " 
does  not  stand  for  any  real  existence,  but  only  for  one  of  the 
modes  in  which  an  Inscrutable  Existence  reveals  itself  to  ua 


446  COSMIG  PHILOSOPHY.  [pp.  iii. 

within  the  limits  of  our  terrestrial  experience.  It  must 
always  be  borne  in  mind  that  we  go  with  Berkeley  to  the 
full  extent  of  asserting  that  the  term  "  matter  "  means,  not 
the  occult  reality,  but  the  group  of  phenomena  which  are 
known  as  resistance,  exiension,  colour,  etc.^  If  now  we 
proceed  to  the  outermost  verge  of  admissible  speculation, 
and  inquire  for  a  moment  what  may*perhaps  be  the  nature 
of  that  Inscrutable  Existence  of  which  the  universe  of  phe- 
nomena is  the  multiform  manifestation,  we  shall  find  that  its 
intimate  essence  may  conceivably  be  identifiable  with  the 
intimate  essence  of  what  we  know  as  Mind.  In  order  to 
show  how  this  can  be,  I  shall  cite  from  Mr.  Spencer  a 
somewhat  lengthy  passage,  to  which  the  attention  of  critics 
has  hitherto  been  too  little  directed. 

"  Mind,  as  known  to  the  possessor  of  it,  is  a  circumscribed 
aggregate  of  activities ;  and  the  cohesion  of  these  activities, 
one  with  another,  throughout  the  aggregate,  compels  the 
postulation  of  a  somethuig  of  which  they  are  the  activities. 
Sut  the  same  experiences  which  make  him  aware  of  this 
coherent  aggregate  of  mental  activities,  simultaneously  make 
him  aware  of  activities  that  are  not  included  in  it — outlying 
activities  which  become  known  by  their  effects  on  this 
aggregate,  but  which  are  experimentally  proved  to  be  not 
coherent  with  it,  and  to  be  coherent  with  one  another. ^  As, 
jj  the  definition  of  them,  these  external  activities  cannot  be 
'Tought  within  the  aggregate  of  activities  distinguished  as 
those  of  Mind,  they  must  for  ever  remain  to  him  nothing 
more  than  the  unknown  correlatives  of  their  effects  on  this 
aggregate ;  and  can  be  thought  of  only  in  terms  furnished 
by  this  aggregate.  Hence,  if  he  regards  his  conceptions  of 
these  activities  lying  beyond  Mind,  as  constituting  know- 
ledge of  them,  he  is  deluding  himself:  he  is  but  representing 
these,  activities  in  terms  of  Mind,  and  can  never  do  other 

^  See  above,  voL  i.  p.  88. 

'  fciee,  m  this  connection,  First  Principles,  pp.  143 — 156. 


BH.  IV.]  MJ  TTEB  AND  SPIRIT.  447 

wise.  Eventually  he  is  obliged  to  admit  that  his  ideas  of 
Matter  and  Motion,  merely  symbolic  of  unknowable  realities, 
are  complex  states  of  consciousness  built  out  of  units  of 
feeling.  But  if,  after  admitting  this,  he  persists  in  asking 
whether  units  of  feeling  are  of  the  same  nature  as  the  units 
of  force  distinguished  as  external,  or  whether  the  units  of 
force  distinguished  as  external  are  of  the  same  nature  as  units 
of  feeling;  then  the  reply,  still  substantially  the  same,  is 
that  we  may  go  farther  towards  conceiving  units  of  external 
force  to  be  identical  with  units  of  feeling,  than  we  can  to- 
wards conceiving  units  of  feeling  to  be  identical  with  units 
of  external  force.  Clearly,  if  units  of  external  force  are 
regarded  as  absolutely  unknown  and  unknowable,  then  to 
translate  units  of  feeling  into  them  is  to  translate  the  known 
into  the  unknown,  which  is  absurd.  And  if  they  are  what 
they  are  supposed  to  be  by  those  who  identify  them  with 
their  symbols,  then  the  difficulty  of  translating  units  of 
feeling  into  them  is  insurmountable :  if  Force  as  it  objec- 
tively exists  is  absolutely  alien  in  nature  from  that  which 
exists  subjectively  as  Feeling,  then  the  transformation  of 
Force  into  Feeling  is  unthinkable.  Either  way,  therefore,  it 
is  impossible  to  interpret  inner  existence  in  terms  of  outer 
existence.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  units  of  Force  as  they 
exist  objectively,  are  essentially  the  same  in  nature  with 
'hose  manifested  subjectively  as  units  of  Feeling :  then  a 
concrivable  hypothesis  remains  open.  Every  element  of 
that  aggregate  of  activities  constituting  a  consciousness,  is 
known  as  belonging  to  consciousness  only  by  its  cohesion 
with  the  rest.  Beyond  the  limits  of  this  coherent  aggregate 
of  activities,  exist  activities  quite  independent  of  it,  and 
%rhich  cannot  be  brought  into  it.  We  may  imagine,  then, 
that  by  their  exclusion  from  the  circumscribed  activities 
constituting  consciousness,  these  outer  activities,  though  of 
he  same  intrinsic  nature,  become  antithetically  opposed  in 
iopect.     Beiug  disconnected  from  consciousness,  or  cut  off 


448  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ul 

by  its  limits,  they  are  thereby  rendered  foreign  to  it.  Not 
being  incorporated  with  its  activities,  or  linked  with  these 
as  they  are  with  one  another,  consciousness  cannot,  as  it 
were,  run  through  them ;  and  so  they  come  to  be  figured  as 
unconscious — are  symbolized  as  having  the  nature  called 
material  as  opposed  to  that  called  spiritual.  While,  how- 
ever, it  thus  seems  an  imaginable  possibility  that  units  of 
external  Force  may  be  identical  in  nature  with  units  of  the 
force  known  as  Feeling,  yet  we  cannot  by  so  representing 
them  get  any  nearer  to  a  comprehension  of  external  Force. 
For  .  .  ,  supposing  all  forms  of  Mind  to  be  composed  of 
homogeneous  units  of  feeling  variously  aggregated,  the  reso- 
lution of  them  into  such  units  leaves  us  as  unable  as  before 
to  think  of  the  substance  of  Mind  as  it  exists  in  such  units  ; 
and  thus,  even  could  we  really  figure  to  ourselves  all  units 
of  external  Force  as  being  essentially  like  units  of  the  force 
known  as  Feeling,  and  as  so  constituting  a  universal  sen- 
tiency,  we  should  be  as  far  as  ever  from  forming  a  conception 
of  that  which  is  universally  sentient."  ^ 

I  do  not  know  where  we  could  find  anything  more  ad- 
mirable than  this  lucid  statement,  in  which  the  most  subtle 
conclusion  now  within  the  ken  of  the  scientific  speculator  is 
reached  without  disregard  of  the  canons  prescribed  by  the 
doctrine  of  relativity.  From  this  masterly  statement  it 
appears  that  while  the  Inscrutable  Power  manifested  in  the 
world  of  phenomena  cannot  possibly  be  regarded  as  quasi- 
material  in  its  nature,  it  may  nevertheless  be  possibly 
regarded  as  quasi-psychical.  Were  we  compelled  to  choose 
between  these  two  alternatives,  the  latter  would  be  the  one 
which  we  must^  perforce  adopt.  For  besides  the  general 
reason  here  indicated  for  such  preference,  there  would  in 
such  case  be  presented  the  more  special  reason,  that  upon 
no  imaginable  hypothesis  of  evolution  (if  the  foregoing 
analysis  be  correct)  can  units  of  Mind  be  regarded  as  pro* 
*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  i.  pp.  159- -161. 


CH.  iv.J  MATTER  AND  SPIRIT.  449 

duced  by  the  collocations  of  units  of  flatter.  "Were  we 
constrained  to  sucli  a  treatment  of  the  subject,  we  should  be 
forced  to  admit  that  the  actual  existence  of  psychical  energy, 
as  a  phenomenon  essentially  distinct  from  physical  energy, 
implies,  as  its  antecedent  source,  something  quasi-psychical 
in  the  constitution  of  things. 

A  third  alternative,  however,  remains  open.  Since  we 
know  nothing  even  of  Mind,  save  as  qualitatively  diffeien- 
tiated  from  Matter,  under  the  persistent  conditions  by  which 
conscious  activity  is  limited,  it  is  open  to  us  to  maintain  that 
the  Unknown  Eeality  which  is  manifested  under  both  aspects 
cannot  legitimately  be  formulated  in  terms  of  either  aspect. 
The  unconditioned  Source  of  the  phenomena  which  we 
distinguish  as  psychical,  and  of  the  phenomena  which  we 
distinguish  as  material,  may  well  be  neither  quasi-psychical 
nor  quasi-materiah  Whichever  set  of  terms  we  use,  we  are 
using  symbols  the  values  of  which  are  determined  by  our 
experiences  of  conditioned  existence,  and  which  must  there- 
fore be  totally  inadequate  to  express  the  characteristics  of 
unconditioned  existence.  Nevertheless,  in  so  far  as  the 
exigencies  of  finite  thinking  require  us  to  symbolize  the 
Infinite  Power  manifested  in  the  world  of  phenomena,  we 
are  clearly  bound  to  symbolize  it  as  quasi-psychical,  rather 
than  as  quasi-material.  Provided  we  bear  in  mind  the 
lymbolic  character  of  our  words,  we  may  say  that  "  God  is 
Spirit,"  though  we  may  not  say,  in  the  materialistic  sense, 
:hat  "  God  is  Force."  Such  an  utterance  is,  indeed,  anthro- 
jKjmorphic.  But  we  are  now  finding  powerful  confirmation 
of  the  argument  elaborated  in  our  Prolegomena,  that  a 
Positive  mode  of  philosophizing  is  impracticable,  and  that 
ve  can  never  get  entirely  rid  of  all  traces  of  anthropo- 
norphism.^  As  formerly  shown,  "  there  is  anthropomorphism 
fcven  in  speaking  of  the  unknown  Cause  as  a  Power  mani- 
fested in  phenomeni;"   and  if  this  expression  is  liable  to 

See  above,  vol.  L  p.  18a 
VOL,  II.  GO 


450  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  hi. 

be  honestly  misinterpreted  as  implying  the  identification  of 
Deity  with  so-called  "  blind  force,"  and  as  thus  conveying  a 
lovjer  conception  than  that  upon  which  theology  insists,  then 
we  need  not  shrink  from  the  scarcely-greater  anthropomor- 
phism involved  in  speaking  of  the  unknown  Cause  as  a 
Spirit  manifested  in  phenomena.  Such  a  choice  of  symbols 
will  at  least  serve  to  show  that  we  no  more  identify  Deity 
with  "  blind  force "  than  we  identify  Mind  with  "  brute 
matter,"  or  a  psychical  shock  with  a  physical  pulsation,  and 
that,  in  our  innermost  intent,  we  are  striving  to  convey  a 
higher  conception  than  that  upon  which  theology  insists. 

But  in  thus  consenting  to  adopt  a  term  about  which  quasi- 
psychical  connotations  have  clustered,  we  do  not  implicitly 
consent  to  the  clothing  of  Deity  with  definable  psychical 
attributes.  The  moment  we  use  the  words  "  intelligence " 
and  "  volition,"  we  are  using  words  which  have  distinct 
meanings,  as  descriptive  of  certain  circumscribed  modes  of 
psychical  activity  in  man  and  some  other  animals.  Except  as 
descriptive  of  these  circumscribed  modes  of  psychical  activity, 
they  have  no  meanings  whatever :  and  to  seek  to  apply 
them  to  the  unlimited  activity  (whether  quasi-psychical 
or  not)  of  a  Being  that  is  not  circumscribed  by  an  "  objec- 
tive datum "  of  any  sort,  is  simply  to  call  into  existence  a 
number  of  illegitimate  propositions  which,  if  dealt  with  as 
legitimate,  would  entangle  us  once  more  in  the  net- work  of 
absurdities  from  which  we  were  set  free  by  the  chapter  on 
Anthropomorphic  Theism. 

Thus  we  are  gradually  finding  ourselves  obliged  to  regard 
the  suggestion  with  which  we  ended  the  chapter  just 
mentioned  as  something  more  than  a  mere  random  sugges- 
tion. "Whether  it  be  true  or  not  that,  within  the  bounds  of 
the  phenomenal  universe  the  highest  type  of  existence  is  that 
which  we  know  as  Humanity,  the  conclusion  is  in  every  way 
forced  upon  us  that,  quite  independently  of  limiting  condi. 
tions  in  space  or  tinie,  there  is  a  form  of  Being  which  can 


CH.  IV.]  MATTER  AND  SPIRIT.  451 

neither  be  assimilated  to  Humanity  nor  to  any  lowor  type  of 
existence.  We  have  no  alternative,  therefore,  but  to  regard 
it  as  higher  than  Humanity,  even  "  as  the  heavens  are  higher 
than  the  earth ; "  and,  except  for  the  intellectual  arrogance 
which  the  arguments  of  theologians  show  lurking  beneath 
their  expressions  of  humility,  there  is  no  reason  why  this 
admission  should  not  be  made  unreservedly,  without  the 
anthropomorphic  qualifications  by  which  its  effect  is  com- 
monly nullified.  The  time  is  surely  coming  when  the 
slowness  of  men  in  accepting  such  a  conclusion  will  be 
marvelled  at,  and  when  the  very  inadequacy  of  human 
language  to  express  Divinity  will  be  regarded  as  a  reason  for 
deeper  faith  and  more  solemn  adoration. 


CHAPTER  V. 


RELIGION  AS   ADJTJSTxMENT. 


From  this  abstract  exposition  of  Cosmic  Theism  as  a  reli- 
gious doctrine,  let  us  now  proceed  to  consider  some  of  the 
practical  relations  of  Cosmic  Theism  to  human  life,  with 
especial  reference  to  conduct,  which,  as  Matthew  Arnold  well 
says,  makes  up  in  importance  at  least  seven-eighths  of  life. 
As  every  system  of  religion  has  comprised,  on  the  one  hand, 
a  theory  of  the  world,  and  on  the  other  hand,  a  code  enjoin- 
ing certain  kinds  of  human  conduct,  and  as  we  have  thus 
far  expounded  Cosmism  as  a  theory  of  the  world,  what  is 
now  to  be  said  of  the  relations  of  Cosmism  to  human 
conduct  ?  Or,  in  other  words,  does  the  enlargement  of  our 
conceptions  of  Divine  action,  in  conformity  with  the  require- 
ments of  contemporary  knowledge,  involve  any  radical 
alteration  of  the  fundamental  principles  of  action  in  which 
Religion,  viewed  practically,  consists  ? 

The  position  is  often  taken,  by  those  who  dissent  from 
current  ecclesiastical  creeds,  that  there  is  no  reason  in  the 
nature  of  things  why  the  long-established  association  between 
religion  and  ethics  should  be  continued, — and  to  these  the 
bllowing  inquiry  will  perhaps  seem  uncalled  for.  It  is  urged, 
with  justice,  that  conduct  is  not  necessarily  dependent  on 
creed    that  equal  uprightness    may  coexist  with  belief  >u 


CH.  v.]  RELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT.  453 

doctrines  diametrically  opposite,  that,  in  point  of  fact,  the 
atheist  nsiially  leads  quite  as  pure  and  holy  a  life  as  the 
Christian  ;  and  moreover,  that  it  is  possible  to  construct,  out 
of  scientific  materials  solely,  an  ethical  code  even  more 
complete  than  any  of  those  now  generally  accepted  and 
practised.  It  would  be  useless  to  deny  the  force  of  these 
arguments.  Not  only  is  it  true  that  science  can  furnish  the 
inquirer  with  adequate  principles  of  right  action,  but  it  is 
also  true  that,  even  without  any  very  elaborate  or  thoroughly 
understood  ethical  code,  the  heterodox  inquirer  is,  on  the 
average,  quite  as  likely  to  live  rightly  as  the  orthodox  be- 
liever, since  our  characters  depend  far  more  upon  our  feelings 
which  are  inherited  than  upoD  the  doctrines  which  are  taught 
us.  But,  while  admitting  all  this,  it  must  still  be  claimed 
that  the  time-honoured  association  of  religion  with  morality 
'is  not  arbitrary  but  founded  in  the  nature  of  things,  and  that 
it  will  accordingly  continue  in  the  future.  The  arguments 
just  stated  present  but  one  side  of  the  case.  For  while  it  is 
quite  true  that  character  is  not  a  product  of  belief,  it  is  no 
less  true  that  action  is  influenced  by  belief.  While  obser- 
vation shows  that  theological  scepticism  does  not  exert  a 
deteriorating  influence  upon  character,  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that  ethical  scepticism,  could  it  become  dominant,  would 
confuse  and  obscure  the  incentives  which  prompt  us  to 
actions  in  harmony  with  the  environment,  and  deter  us  from 
mal-adjustments.  Practically  the  momentum  of  inherited 
impulse  and  bequeathed  ethical  tradition  is  so  powerful  that 
the  cases  in  which  theological  scepticism  has  entailed  per- 
manently-effective ethical  scepticism  have  been  the  exception 
rather  than  the  rule.  But  what  now  concerns  us  is  the 
inquiry  whether  in  the  nature  of  things  a  substitution  of 
scientific  for  theological  symbols  involves  an  alteration  of 
ethical  values  in  the  grand  equation  between  duty  and 
action.  We  shall  find  that  no  such  change  is  involved  in  the 
substitution.     Though  we  may.  and  do,  throw  overboard  tha 


454  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  IIL 

whole  of  the  semi-barbaric  mythology  in  which  Christianii;y 
has  hitherto  been  symbolized,  we  shall  find,  nevertheless,  that 
we  have  kept  firmly  in  our  possession  the  ethical  kernel  for 
which  Christianity  is  chiefly  valued  even  by  those  who  retain 
the  whole  of  this  mythology. 

If  we  inquire  into  the  position  which  every  theological 
creed  has  occupied  with  reference  to  the  ethical  code  by  which 
it  has  been  supplemented,  we  shall  find  that  in  every  case  it 
has  served  to  supply  a  powerful  sanction  to  the  principles  of 
right  action  contained  in  the  ethical  code.  That  "  thy  days 
may  be  long  in  the  land  which  Jehovah  thy  God  giveth  thee," 
or  that  "  thy  Father  which  seeth  in  secret  may  reward  thee 
openly,"  therefore  must  thou  do  these  things  written  in  the 
law.  Along  with  the  moral  code,  embodying  the  principles 
of  right  action  recognized  by  the  community,  there  has  ever 
been  declared  some  theory  of  the  relations  of  man  to  the 
unknowable  Power  manifested  in  the  Cosmos,  which  has 
furnished  incentives  to  the  actions  regarded  as  right  and 
deterrents  from  the  actions  regarded  as  wrong.  It  is  because 
religion  has  ever  furnished  this  weighty  sanction  to  morality 
that  creeds  and  conduct  have  always  been  associated  in  men's 
minds ;  and  it  is  because  of  this  that  narrow-minded  theo- 
logians, unable  or  unwilling  to  admit  that  there  can  be  any 
other  adequate  sanctions  than  those  supplied  by  their  own 
creed,  so  persistently  argue  upon  the  assumption  that  those 
who  do  not  accept  their  creed  must  of  necessity  be  morally 
perverse.  We  need  not  for  the  moment  inquire  into  the 
moral  value  of  the  sanctions  established  by  the  various 
historic  religions :  whether  they  appeal  to  the  purest  and 
highest  of  humac.  feelings  or  not,  the  essential  point  which 
now  concerns  us  is  the  existence  of  such  sanctions  as  an 
indispensable  part  of  every  religious  system. 

What,  now,  are  the  ethical  sanctions  recognized  by  science 
and  by  that  religious  doctrine  which  I  have  here  proposed 
ko  designate   as  Cosmic  Theism  ?      In   what   sense   does  a 


CH.  V.J  RELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT,  465 

Bcientific  philosophy  hold  to  the  distinction  between  sin  on 
the  one  hand,  and  crime  or  tort  on  the  other?  Our  questions 
may  readily  be  answered  if,  bearing  in  mind  the  theoretic 
attitude  of  Cosmism  toward  Anthropomorphism,  we  note  the 
anthropomorphic '  theory  of  sin  and  the  anthropomorphic 
sanctions  for  righteousness.  On  the  anthropomorphic  hypo- 
thesis, sin  is  an  offence  against  a  personal  Deity,  consisting 
in  the  disobedient  transgression  of  some  one  of  his  revealed 
edicts,  and  calling  for  punishment  either  in  the  present  or 
in  a  future  life,  unless  reparation  be  made  by  repentance  or 
sacrifice.  Now  the  theory  of  the  Cosmist  is  in  substance 
quite  identical  with  this/  though  expressed  by  means  of  very 
different  verbal  symbols.  From  the  scientific  point  of  view, 
sin  is  a  wilful  violation  of  a  law  of  nature,  or — to  speak  in 
terms  of  the  theory  of  evolution — it  is  a  course  of  thought 
or  action,  wilfully  pursued,  which  tends  to  throw  the  indi- 
vidual out  of  balance  with  his  environment,  and  thus  to 
detract  from  his  physical  or  moral  completeness  of  life. 
The  seeking  after  righteousness  is  characteristic  of  the 
modern  follower  of  science  quite  as  much  as  it  was  charac- 
teristic of  the  mediaeval  saint;  save  that  while  the  latter 
symbolized  his  yearning  as  a  desire  to  become  like  his 
highest  concrete  conception  of  human  excellence  ideally 
embodied  in  Christ,  the  former  no  longer  employs  any  such 
anthropomorphic  symbol,  but  formulates  his  feeling  in 
scientific  phrase  as  the  persistent  desire  to  live  rightly,  or 
in  entire  conformity  to  the  requirements  of  nature, — as 
Goethe  expresses  it, — 

"Im  Ganzen,  Guten,  Wahren,  resolut  zu  leben." 

The*  feeling    is    identical    in  the    two    cases,  though  the 

^  Saving  only  the  last  clause.  For,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  science  knows 
of  no  such  thing  as  reparation  for  sin.  Repentance  cannot  ward  off  punish- 
ment. And  herein  the  Cosmic  hypothesis  is  as  far  superior  to  the  Anthropo- 
morphic hypothesis  from  the  ethical,  as  it  is  from  the  philosophical,  poiut  of 
view. 


456  COSMIC  FHILOSOl'HY.  [pt.  in. 

difference  in  the  technical  expression  of  it  is  as  great  as 
the  difference  between  the  theology  of  the  "  Imitation "  and 
the  science  of  "  First  Principles,"  Now  when  a  law  of 
nature  has  been  violated  (to  use  the  current  phrase),  the 
religion  of  the  scientific  inquirer  tells  him  that  a  sin  has 
been  committed  ;  and  he  is  smitten  with  a  sense  of  self- 
reproach  no  whit  less  keen  than  that  experienced  by  his 
mediaeval  predecessor.  The  distinction  between  the  scientific 
and  the  religious  view  of  the  breach  of  law  is  thus  apparent. 
When  an  act  has  been  committed  which  must  entail  more 
or  less  misery  either  upon  the  individual  himself  or  upon 
others,  science  merely  recognizes  that  there  has  been  a 
breach  of  law;  but  religion  further  declares  that  sin  has 
been  done,  and  there  ensues  a  painful  state  of  consciousness 
which,  as  we  must  carefully  note,  is  not  due  to  selfish  dread 
of  suffering  to  be  encountered  (since  similar  suffering  in  a 
righteous  cause  would  be  met  with  a  feeling  of  self-approval), 
but  is  made  up  chiefly  of  self-condemnation  for  the  in- 
excusable infraction  of  nature's  ordinance.  Eegarded  as  a 
product  of  psychical  evolution,  this  sense  of  sin,  peculiar  to 
the  most  highly  developed  organisms,  is  the  analogue  of  the 
sense  of  pain  shared  in  some  degree  by  all  organisms  endowed 
with  consciousness.  The  sense  of  sin,  like  the  sense  of  pain, 
is  normally  the  deterrent  from  actions  which  tend  to  diminish 
the  completeness  of  the  correspondence  in  which  life  consists. 
But  while  the  sense  of  pain  is  common  to  those  creatures 
whose  incentives  to  action  are  purely  selfish,  the  sense  of 
sin  can  be  possessed  only  by  those  creatures  whose  intelli- 
gence is  sufficiently  complex  to  enable  them  to  recognize  the 
relationship  in  which  they  stand  to  the  omnipresent  Power. 
and  whose  highest  incentives  to  action  are  therefore  quite 
\mpersonal.  To  feel  the  sting  of  self-reproach  because  of 
wrong-doing,  without  any  selfish  reference  to  the  misery 
which  the  wrong-doing  must  inevitably  entail,  is  the  high 
pi  erogative  of  that  creature  whose  future  career  of  evolution, 


CH.  v.]  RELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT.  457 

as  we  have  seen,  must  mainly  consist  in  spiritual  improve- 
ment,— and  in  it  we  may  recognize  the  sure  token  of  the 
glorious  fulness  of  life  to  which  Hunianitv  must  eventually 
attain. 

Such  is  the  crude  outline  of  the  theory  of  sin,  and  of  the 
ethical  sanctious  furnished  by  religion,  into  which  Cosmism 
metamorphoses  the  anthropomorphic  theory.  Far  from  re- 
jecting as  a  mythologic  fiction  the  doctrine  that  sin  is  a 
violation  of  God's  decrees,  entailing  inevitable  punishment, 
science  recognizes  therein  the  anthropomorphic  version  of 
the  truth  that  every  failure  in  the  system  of  adjustments  in 
which  life  consists  is  followed  inevitably  by  pain,  in  some 
one  of  its  lower  or  higher  forms.  And  thus,  by  bringing  the 
whole  subject  into  the  philosophic  domain  wherein  the  Law 
of  Evolution  holds  sway,  we  begin  to  understand,  so  far  as 
it  is  possible  to  understand,  the  philosophy  of  evil,  pain, 
and  wrong,  which  to  the  anthropomorphic  theist,  as  we  have 
seen,  must  ever  remain  a  distressing  and  insoluble  enigma. 
Let  us  briefly  trace  the  process  by  which  men  have  slowly 
arrived  at  the  perception  of  the  beneficence  of  pain,  that 
we  may  the  more  clearly  see  how  the  process  has  been 
determined  by  the  deanthropomorphization  of  the  agencies 
by  which  pain  is  wrought. 

In  treating  of  the  philosophy  of  fetishism  (Part  I.  chap, 
vii.)  it  was  shown  that  by  primeval  men,  unused  to  scientific 
generalization,  the  forces  of  nature  must  have  been  likened 
to  human  volition,  because  there  was  nothing  else  with  which 
to  compare  them.  Man  felt  within  himself  a  source  of  power, 
and  did  not  yet  surmise  that  power  could  have  any  other 
source ;  and  consequently  he  identified,  without  any  qualifi- 
cation, the  forces  displayed  outside  of  himself  with  the  force 
of  will  as  directly  revealed  in  his  consciousness.  In  this 
necessity  of  thought  originated  not  only  the  personifications  of 
ancient  mythology,  but  also  the  primitive  religious  worship  ; 
a  religion  of  sacrifice,  of  sorcery,  a»d  of  terror,  as  different 


453  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt,  m, 

from  modern  religion  as  mythology  is  different  from  modern 
philoaophy.      Of  primitive  religion  the  most  prominent,  a3 
well  as  the  most  abiding,  phase  is  devil-worship.   Mr.  Hunter's 
remarks  concerning  the  Santals  will  apply  equally  well  to 
barbarians  all  over  the  world,  as  also  to  the  primeval  men 
from  whose  crude   notions  modern  orthodoxy  has  inherited 
its   terrorism.      "  Of    a   supreme   and   beneficent   God    the 
Santal  has  no  conception  .  ,  .     He  cannot  understand  how 
a  Being  can  be  more  powerful  than  himself  without  wishing 
to  harm  him.     Discourses  upon  the  attributes  of  the  Deity 
excite  no  emotion  among  the  more  isolated  sections  of  the 
race,  except  a  disposition  to  run  away  and  hide  themselves 
m  the  jungle  ;  and  the  only  reply  made  to  a  missionary  at 
the  end  of  an  eloquent  description    of  the  omnipotence  of 
God,  was,  '  And  what  if  that  Strong  One  should  eat  me  ? ' 
But  although  the  Santal  has  no  God  from  whose  benignity 
he  may  expect  favour,  there  exist  a  multitude  of  demons 
and  evil  spirits,  whose  spite  he  endeavours  by  supplications 
to   avert.     So  far  from  being  without  a  religion,  his  rites 
are   infinitely  more  numerous  than  those   of  the  Hindu."* 
The  genesis  of  this  primitive   devil-worship   finds   its   ex- 
planation in   the  fact  that  the   uncontrollable   agencies   of 
nature — the  storm  and  the   earthquake,  the  wind  and  the 
wave — though  supposed  to  resemble  man  in  so  far  as  they 
were  intelligent  and  volitional  agents,  coidd  not  be  wholly 
like  him.     Their  ways  were  not  as  his  ways.      They  were 
not  to  be  counted  upon.     They  could  not  be  prepared  for, 
defended  against,  or  reasoned  with.     They  might  bring  harm; 
and  frequently  they  did  bring  harm.     Accordingly  they  were 
regarded  with  fear  and  trembling.     It  is  not  easy  for  us  to 
realize  the  extent  to  which  in  early  times  the  unknown  was 
identified  with   the   hurtful.^      It    is   not   possible   for  us 

*  Annals  of  Rural  Bengal,  p.  181. 

■  As  Humboldt  says,  in  allusion  to  the  long-enduring  effects  of  this  primi- 
tife  inference  : — '*  Es  liegt  tief  in  der  triiben  Natur  des  Menschen,  in  eine* 


IH.  v.]  RELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT.  459 

adequately  to  represent  in  imagination  the  overpowering 
emotions  of  mingled  doubt  and  dread  whicli  must  have 
seized  the  primitive  thinker  when  brought  face  to  face  with 
this  omnipresent,  but  to  him  utterly  incoherent,  universe. 
Where  certainty  is  for  us,  for  him  was  uncertainty.  The 
same  resistless  forces  which  to  us  bring  expected  benefits 
were  for  him  productive  mainly  of  unlooked-for  calamities. 
We,  holding  in  our  grasp  the  Aladdin's  lamp  of  physical 
knowledge,  may  find  them  obedient  slaves  :  to  him,  who  had 
not  unearthed  the  talisman,  they  proclaimed  themselves  in- 
exorable masters.  Hunger  and  disease,  exposure  to  heat  and 
cold,  to  the  attacks  of  savage  beasts  and  of  unseen  enemies, 
were  stern  realities  of  daily  experience.  There  were  neither 
houses  for  shelter  and  defence,  nor  cities  for  the  common 
protection,  nor  arts  to  insure  exemption  from  physical  dis- 
comfort. Language  had  not  yet  found  need  for  words  to 
denote  some  of  the  most  necessary  implements  and  some  ot 
the  most  ordinary  processes  of  life.  Nature  was  unmanage- 
able as  well  as  unknown, — a  stumbling-block  as  well  as  a 
riddle. 

Thus  the  unclassed  phenomenon  came  to  be  a  source  of 
terror ;  for  experience  had  taught  that  it  was  quite  as  likely 
to  bring  disaster  as  good  fortune.  Thus  the  volitional 
agencies  by  which  fetishism  sought  to  account  for  surround- 
ing phenomena  came  to  be  regarded  as  capricious  and  male- 
volent agencies,  whose  wrath  must  be  averted  by  prayer  or 
sorcery,  and  whose  favour  must  be  bought  by  sacrifice. 
Thus  arose  the  conception  of  God  as  a  consuming  fire.  Thus 
it  was  that  in  Egypt  deprecating  prayers  were  addressed 
to  the  crocodile,  and  in  Sjrria  to  the  serpent ;  that  Hindu 
mothers  threw  their  children  into  the  Ganges,  while  Cartha- 
ginians burned  their  new-born  infants  in  front  of  the  brazen 
Image  of  Moloch. 

amsterfullten  Ansicht  der  Dvnge,  dass  das  Unerwartete,  Ausserordentlich^ 
LUr  Furcht,  Drht  Freude  oder  Hofl'uung  erregt.'"     Eosmos.  torn.  i.  p.  119. 


160  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  lit. 

This  sense  of  a  Satanic  presence  in  nature,  whether  em- 
bodied in  the  form  of  a  malevolent  devil  or  in  that  of  a 
ferocious  deity,  ever  ready  to  burst  forth  with  fire  and  con- 
sume his  creatures,  has  been  of  long  continuance.  It  lies  at 
the  bottom  of  mediaeval  witchcraft,  and  it  shows  itself  in  the 
modern  "  revival-meetings  "  in  which  the  religious  theories  of 
uneducated  people  still  betray  their  close  kinship  with  those 
of  the  savage.  From  the  educated  portion  of  the  com- 
munity, however,  it  has  entirely  disappeared;  and  its  dis- 
appearance is  manifestly  due  to  that  part  of  their  education 
which  has  consisted  in  the  scientific  generalization  of  natural 
agencies,  and  in  the  consequent  deanthropomorphization  of 
their  conceptions  of  force.  We  have  seen  that,  with  the 
progress  of  generalization,  the  conception  of  volition  is 
gradually  excluded  from  all  those  groups  of  phenomena  in 
the  production  of  which  the  human  will  is  not  implicated, 
and  is  replaced  by  the  conception  of  a  uniform  force,  whose 
actions  may  be  foreseen  or  modified,  and  whose  effects,  if 
harmful,  may  be  avoided.  Our  ability  to  predict  the  simpler 
phenomena  of  nature  has  deprived  them  of  the  terrors  due 
primitively  to  our  anthropomorphic  explanations  of  them. 
Armies  retreating  from  destruction — like  that  of  Nikias — 
have  never  been  checked  in  their  course  by  eclipses  which 
had  been  foreseen  ;  and  comets  have  been  beheld  with  equa- 
nimity since  they  have  been  known  to  move  in  conic  sections. 
But  coincident  with  the  progress  of  our  ability  to  predict 
these  simpler  phenomena,  has  been  the  progress  of  our 
ability  to  modify  those  which  are  more  complicated.  The 
advancement  of  science  is  also  the  advancement  of  art. 
Penetrating  inquisitively  into  the  secrets  of  Nature,  we  em- 
ploy our  information  in  extorting  from  her  her  treasures. 
Fire  is  not  the  only  bad  master  that  we  have  contrived  to 
make  a  very  good  servant.  We  transform  heat  into  motion, 
and  improve  our  means  for  travelling.  We  change  electricity 
into  motion,  and  facilitate  the  transfer  of  intelligence.     Th» 


DH.  v.]  RELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT.  461 

agencies  which  produce  small-pox  we  compel  to  defeat  them- 
selves. And  thus,  in  many  ways,  we  extract  profit  and 
gratification  from  that  which  is  ugly  and  noxious;  as  the 
refuse  of  gas-works  and  the  drainings  of  stables,  when  dealt 
with  by  the  chemist,  yield  rich  dyes  and  delicate  perfumes. 

Thus,  as  science  advances,  Xature  is  better  understood. 
As  art  progresses,  she  inflicts  less  pain  and  bestows  more 
pleasure.  Once  hated  as  an  enemy,  she  is  at  last  revered  as 
a  benefactor.  Gradually  it  comes  to  be  perceived  that  all 
pain  arises  from  disregard  of  her  wisely-framed  ordinances ; 
and  that,  by  conformity  to  those  ordinances,  pain  may  ulti- 
mately be  avoided.  "Where  the  ancient  man  saw  nothing 
but  capricious  volition,  the  modern  man  beholds  force  acting 
by  invariable  methods.  The  former  knew  not  that  the  pain 
under  which  he  was  writhing  resulted  from  a  violation  of 
Nature's  edicts,  and  he  sought  to  prevent  its  recurrence  by 
sacrifice  and  supplication.  The  latter  knows  that  Nature's 
commandments  are  not  to  be  broken.  He  knows  that  to 
their  infringement  there  is  attached  an  inevitable  penalty, — 
that  misery  will  follow  disobedience,  the  first  time,  the 
second  time,  every  time ;  and  he  therefore  learns  to  obey. 
Matter  does  not  put  oft"  its  resistance  to  save  from  broken 
bones ;  the  stomach  does  not  stop  digesting,  that  poison  may 
be  innocuous  ;  the  law  which  couples  imprudent  exposure 
with  bronchitis  and  pneumonia  will  not  cease  to  operate, 
though  thousands  die ;  nerve-tissue  wall  not  renounce  its 
properties,  to  prevent  indulgence  in  evil  thoughts  and  yield- 
ing to  sinful  inclinations  from  depraving  the  imagination  and 
weakening  the  will.  To  be  delivered  from  evil,  we  must 
avoia  tne  mal-adjustments  of  which  evil  is  the  consequence 
and  the  symptom.  Hence,  while  to  the  aboriginal  man 
malevolence  was  the  only  conceivable  source  of  suffering, 
he  reverent  follower  of  science  perceives  the  truth  of  the 
paradox  that  the  infliction  of  pain  is  subservient  to  a  bene- 
ficent end.     "  Pervading  all  nature,  he  sees  at  work  a  steru 


462  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  lu 

discipline,  which  is  a  little  cruel,  that  it  may  be  verj'  kind." 
That  perpetual  warfare  going  on  throughout  the  animal 
world,  whereby  those  no  longer  fit  to  live  are  spared  the 
miseries  of  protracted  existence,  is  found  to  be  also  the  indis- 
pensable condition  of  the  origination  of  higher  forms  of  life. 
The  disappearance  of  savage  tribes  before  the  spread  of 
civilized  races,  while  often  accompanied  by  unjustifiable^ 
aggression  on  the  part  of  the  stronger,  is  perceived  to  in- 
volve the  increase  of  the  sum -total  of  happiness.  Thus, 
with  Michelet,  we  come  to  regard  pain  as  in  some  sort  the 
artist  of  the  world,  which  fashions  us  with  the  fine  edge  of 
n  pitiless  chisel,  cutting  away  the  ill-adjusted  and  leaving 
the  nobler  type  to  inherit  the  earth.^ 

But  note  that  such  a  solution  of  the  mystery  of  pain  is 
attainable  only  by  the  complete  elimination  of  anthropo- 
morphism from  the  problem.  Introduce  a  quasi-human  will 
behind  the  series  of  phenomena,  and  we  are  at  once  con- 
fronted anew  with  all  the  difficulties  mentioned  in  the 
chapter  on  Anthropomorphic  Theism.  The  fact  stands  in- 
exorably before  us,  that  a  Supreme  Will,  enlightened  by 
perfect  intelligence  and  possessed  of  infinite  power,  might 
differently  have  fashioned  the  universe,  though  in  ways 
inconceivable  by  us,  so  that  the  suffering  and  the  waste  of 

^  "La  douleur  est  en  quelque  sorte  I'artiste  du  monde,  qui  nou3  fait,  noua 
fa^oune,  nous  sculpte  k  la  fine  pointe  d'un  impitoyable  ciseau.  EUe  retranchia 
la  vie  d6bordante,  Et  ce  qui  reste,  plus  ex(iuis  et  plus  fort,  enrichi  de  sa 
perte  meme,  en  tire  le  don  d'une  vie  superieuie."  Michelet,  UOiseau,  p.  Ufi^ 
Compare  the  sublime  passage  concerning  man,  wherein  Tennyson  saya  :-— 

"  If  so  he  type  this  work  of  Time 

"  Within  himself  from  more  to  more  ; 
And,  crowned  with  attributes  of  woe 
Like  glories,  move  his  course,  and  shoir 
That  life  is  not  as  idle  ore  ; 

**  But  iron  dug  from  central  gloom, 

And  heated  hot  with  burning  fears, 
And  dipped  in  baths  of  hissing  tear% 
And  battered  with  thg  ehocka  of  doom, 

*•  To  shape  arid  itse." 


CH.  v.]  RELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT.  463 

life  which  characterize  nature's  process  of  e^'olution  might 
have  been  avoided.  It  may  be  said  that  such  a  supposition 
is  sheer  nonsense, — since  we  must  accept,  as  a  pre-requisite 
for  all  speculation  on  the  subject,  the  proj)erties  of  matter 
and  motion  as  we  find  them,  necessitating  as  they  do  the 
process  of  evolution  as  we  observe  it.  But  to  say  this  is  to 
concede  all  that  is  here  maintained,  and  implicitly  to  admit 
that,  instead  of  postulating  a  quasi- human  Will  as  the  source 
of  phenomena,  we  must  rest  content  with  the  recognition  of 
an  Inscrutable  Power,  of  which  the  properties  of  matter 
and  motion,  necessitating  the  process  of  evolution,  with 
pain  and  wrong  as  its  concomitants,  are  the  phenomenal 
manifestations. 

With  the  entire  elimination  of  anthropomorphism,  the 
conception  of  malevolence  as  the  source  of  suffering  com- 
pletely vanishes,  and  the  mind  assumes  an  attitude  of 
reverent  resignation  with  reference  to  the  workings  of 
Divine  power.  Even  such  a  catastrophe  as  the  Lisbon 
earthquake,  which  so  sorely  puzzled  the  aged  Voltaire  and 
the  youthful  Goethe,  lost  its  worst  horrors  when  geology, 
discarding  mythological  explanations,  referred  it  to  the 
action  of  those  same  subterranean  energies  which  are  ever 
maintaining  the  earth  in  a  habitable  condition.  The  scien- 
tific inquirer  must  needs  recognize  the  fact  that  physical 
forces  will  work  their  normal  effects,  though  the  result  be 
the  sending  of  rain  alike  upon  the  just  and  upon  the  unjust. 
The  expansive  energy  of  steam  will  slay  not  only  the  wicked 
engineer  who  has  neglected  his  boiler,  but  also  the  innocent 
children  peacefully  playing  on  the  deck  overhead. 

*'  Streams  will  not  curb  their  pride, 
The  just  man  not  to  entomb. 
Nor  lightnings  go  aside 
To  leave  Ms  viitues  room." 

But  the  flood  and  the  earthquake,  like  the  wickedness  of 
men,  in  so  far  as  the  arrangements  of  society  are  not  yet 


164  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt,  iil 

adequate  for  curbing  it,  must  be  accepted  with  resignation 
as  part  and  parcel  of  the  events  whicli  the  constitution  of 
our  universe  necessitates.  Such  evils,  which  right  living 
will  not  guard  against,  furnish  no  excuse  for  ceasing  to  shun 
the  committal  of  wilful  wrongs  which  detract,  to  a  fai 
greater  extent,  from  the  fulness  of  life  of  ourselves  and  our 
fellow-creatures.  The  sanction  by  which  the  religion  of  the 
scientiiic  inquirer  enforces  its  ethical  code,  is  the  certainty 
that  mal-adjustment  will  be  followed,  always  by  the  suffer- 
ing or  degradation  of  the  wrong-doer  himself,  and  usually  by 
the  suffering  of  others  who  are  innocent.  And  while  in  this 
respect  there  is  no  essential  difference  between  the  Cosmic 
and  the  Anthropomorphic  theories,  on  their  ethical  sides, 
there  is  another  respect  in  which  the  sanction  recognized  by 
the  former  is  far  more  powerful,  and  must  in  time  become  far 
more  effective,  than  the  sanction  recognized  by  the  latter. 
For  the  current  anthropomorphism,  in  this  as  in  other 
points  betraying  its  kinship  to  primeval  fetishism,  asserts  that 
by  repentance  and  prayer  the  evil  effects  of  sin  may  be 
avoided.  The  anthropomorphic  theist  sees  in  his  Deity  a 
being  so  nearly  like  himself  as  to  be  willing  to  interfere 
with  the  ordinary  course  of  things  and  dissociate  the  act  of 
wrong-doing  from  its  legitimate  penalty.  As  the  father  puts 
forth  his  arm  and  saves  his  falling  child  from  the  natural 
consequences  of  a  false  step,  so  it  is  supposed  that  God  wiU, 
in  certain  cases,  turn  aside  the  blow  which  nature  has  in 
store  for  human  misdeeds.  Science  knows  of  no  such  inter- 
ference with  the  law  that  pain  is  consequent  upon  mal- 
adjustment. The  deed  once  done  will  work  its  full  effects, 
save  in  so  far  as  checked  by  counter-actions.  He  who  has 
swallowed  arsenic  will  be  saved,  not  by  prayer,  but  by  an 
e.metic.  He  who  has  yielded  to  temptation  may  indeed,  by 
the  repentant  feeling  of  which  prayer  is  the  expression, 
secure  himself  from  future  yielding;  but  the  tendency  to« 
rard  loss   of  self-control,  initiated  by  the  iirst  surrender 


CH    v.]  EELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT,  465 

cannot  be  rendered  non-existent  by  any  ex  post  facto  act  of 
contrition,  though  its  operation  may  be  counteracted.  And 
if  the  misdeed,  as  usually  happens,  has  involved  others  than 
the  agent,  its  evil  consequences  must  endure  and  ramify, 
until  they  at  last  disappear  through  some  natural  process 
of  equilibration.  No  amount  of  repentance  for  lying  can 
deprive  lies  of  their  tendency  to  weaken  the  mutual  con- 
fidence of  men  and  thus  to  dissolve  society.  The  lie  once 
told  must  work  its  effects,  as  surely  as  the  stone  dropped 
into  water  must  give  forth  its  arrested  motion  in  rippling 
circles.  No  penance  or  priestly  absolution  can  do  away  with 
the  persistence  of  force. 

Obedience  to  the  so-called  "  laws  of  nature,"  which  are  the 
decrees  of  God,  is  therefore  the  fundamental  principle  of 
religion  viewed  practically.  And,  as  was  hinted  at  the  close 
of  the  twenty-second  chapter  of  Part  II.,  religion,  as  thus 
interpreted,  has  a  wider  meaning  than  morality.  For,  as 
we  saw,  in  the  chapter  referred  to,  that  a  philosophy  of 
hedonism  has  for  its  subject-matter  the  principles  of  action 
conducive  to  the  right  living  of  the  individual  so  far  as 
his  own  happiness  is  concerned,  and  that  a  philosophy  of 
morality  has  for  its  subject-matter  the  principles  of  action 
conducive  to  the  right  living  of  the  individual  so  far  as 
the  well-being  of  the  community  is  concerned ;  so  a  philo- 
sophy of  religion  has  for  its  subject-matter  the  relations  of 
the  individual  to  the  Inscrutable  Power  manifested  in  the 
universe,  and  the  principles  of  action  conducive  to  his  right 
living  considered  as  a  part  and  parcel  of  the  universe.  To 
live  in  conformity  to  Nature's  decrees,  is  to  live  morally,  in 
the  common  acceptation  of  that  term,  and  something  more 
beside.  For  there  are  many  actions  which,  as  immediately 
concerning  none  but  the  individual,  are  technically  neither 
moral  nor  immoral,  but  which  nevertheless  are  right  or 
wrong.  Over-eating,  for  example,  which  can  hardly  be 
termed  immoral,  and  wliich   the  current  hedonism  mildly 

VOL.  U.  H  H 


166  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  ill. 

characterizes  as  imprudent,  may  from  a  religious  point  of 
view  be  regarded  as  wrong  or  sinful.  I  cite  this  homely 
illustration  because  it  leads  directly  to  the  pith  and  centre 
of  the  truth  which  I  am  seeking  to  explain.  Hedonism,  of 
which  the  highest  principle  of  action  is  personal  selfishness, 
regards  the  individual  as  having  a  right  to  do  what  he  likea 
with  his  own  body.  Eeligion  declares  that  he  has  no  such 
right,  but  on  the  other  hand  has  duties  toward  himself  which 
he  is  as  much  bound  to  discharge  as  if  they  directly  con- 
cerned other  people.  Eeligion,  therefore,  extends  the  rules 
of  right  and  wrong  primarily  derived  from  the  relations  of 
the  individual  to  the  community,  until  they  cover  even  the 
self-regarding  actions  of  the  individual.  And  what  is  this 
but  establishing  rules  of  action  concerning  the  individual 
in  his  relations  to  what  we  call  Nature  or  the  Universe? 
Finally,  as  the  organized  moral  sense  takes  cognizance  of 
actions  injurious  to  the  community,  visiting  them  with  the 
stings  of  self-reproach  without  any  direct  or  conscious  tracing 
out  of  their  probable  injurious  consequences  ;  so  the  religious 
sense  takes  cognizance  of  all  actions  whatsoever  which  come 
within  the  class  of  mal-adjustments,  whether  they  directly 
concern  the  community  or  not,  and  the  feeling  of  self-con- 
demnation arises  irrespective  of  any  direct  estimate  of  pro- 
bable consequences.  For  the  religious  sense  is  primarily 
based  upon  the  aspiration — the  noblest  which  any  creature 
can  entertain — after  complete  fulness  of  life ;  and  auy 
thought  or  act,  any  sin  of  omission  or  of  commission,  in- 
consistent with  such  aspiration,  awakens  the  painful  con- 
«;ciousness  of  shortcoming,  without  any  reference  to  those 
-ower  considerations  of  pleasure  and  pain  of  which  alone 
hedonism  takes  cognizance. 

Such,  in  brief  outline,  is  the  theory  of  religion  which  seems 
0  me  most  thoroughly  consonant  with  our  present  knowledge. 
Scanty  justice  can  be  done,  in  one  short  chapter,  to  so  great 


CH.  v.]  BELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT.  467 

a  subject.  But  a  detailed  exposition  would  not  be  in  keeping 
with  the  purpose  of  the  present  work.  It  is  not  my  aim  to 
propound  a  complete  theory  of  religion,  or  to  prepare  the  way 
for  the  inauguration  of  any  new  religious  system — for  I  should 
regard  any  undertaking  of  this  kind  as  ab  initio  self-convicted 
of  absurdity — but  simply  to  show  that  it  is  in  the  power  of 
Science,  without  proving  recreant  to  its  own  methods,  to 
maintain  every  one  of  the  fundamental  truths  which  give  to 
Religion  its  permanent  value.  Starting  from  the  knowledge 
of  nature  which  we  now  possess,  and  without  making  appeal 
to  venerated  traditions  based  upon  the  scantier  knowledge 
possessed  by  relatively  barbarous  ages,  I  have  sought  to  show 
that  the  truths  already  discerned  and  asserted  in  these  tra- 
ditions— the  fundamental  truths  to  which  alone  the  traditions 
owe  their  permanent  hold  upon  men's  minds — are  in  nowise 
shaken,  but  rather  confirmed  and  reiterated  by  our  present 
knowledge.  For  my  purpose,  this  has  been  sufficiently  shown 
in  the  present  chapter  and  its  two  predecessors.  For  not 
only  have  we  seen  that  scientific  inquiry,  proceeding  from  its 
own  resources  and  borrowing  no  hints  from  theology,  leads  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  universe  is  the  manifestation  of  a 
Divine  Power  that  is  in  no  wise  identifiable  with  the  uni- 
verse, or  interpretable  in  terms  of  "  blind  force  "  or  of  any 
other  phenomenal  manifestation  ;  but  we  have  also  seen  that 
the  ethical  relations  in  which  man  stands  with  reference  to 
this  Divine  Power  are  substantially  the  same,  whether  de- 
scribed in  terms  of  modern  science  or  in  terms  of  ancient 
mythology.  And  in  so  far  as  there  is  any  difference  between 
je  scientific  and  the  mythologic  view  of  the  sanctions  by 
wnich  these  ethical  relations  are  maintained,  we  have  seen 
that  the  sanctions  recognized  by  the  former  are  even  more 
powerful  than  those  recognized  by  the  latter.  While,  lastly, 
fts  regards  the  basis  of  these  ethical  relations,  the  superiority 
of  the  scientific  view  is  most  conspicuously  manifest.  Far 
from  its  being  true,  as  Mr.  Mivart  seems  to  fear,  that  the 

H  H  2 


MM  COSMIC  PHILOSOFHY.  [pt.  hi. 

Doctrine  of  Evolution  leaves  morality  without  a  theoretical 
basis,  it  supplies  for  it  a  theoretical  basis  incomparably  deeper 
and  stronger  than  has  ever  been  supplied  for  it  by  any 
anthropomorphic  theory  of  things.  For  not  only  does  the 
Doctrine  show  that  the  principles  of  action  which  the  re- 
ligious instincts  of  men  have  agreed  in  pronouncing  sacred, 
are  involved  in  the  very  nature  of  life  itself,  regarded  as  a 
continuous  adjustment ;  but  it  shows  that  the  obh'gation  to 
conform  to  these  principles,  instead  of  deriving  its  authority 
from  the  arbitrary  command  of  a  mythologic  quasi-human 
Ruler,  derives  it  from  the  innermost  necessities  of  that  pro- 
cess of  evolution  which  is  the  perpetual  revelation  of  Divine 
Power.  He  to  whom  the  theory  of  evolution,  in  all  its 
details,  has  become  as  familiar  as  the  saws  and  maxims  of 
the  old  mythology  are  to  him  who  still  accepts  it,  will  recog- 
nize that  to  be  untrue  to  the  highest  attainable  ethical  code 
is  to  be  untrue  to  philosophy,  untrue  to  science,  untrue  to 
himself.  Thus  in  the  grand  equation  between  duty  and 
action,  the  substitution  of  scientific  for  theological  symbols 
involves  no  alteration  of  ethical  values.  And  thus  in  casting 
aside  the  mythologic  formulas  in  which  religious  obligation 
was  formerly  symbolized,  we  do  but  recognize  the  obligation 
as  more  binding  than  ever. 

In  criticism  of  the  religious  theory  thus  briefly  expounded, 
it  will  doubtless  be  urged  that  such  religion  is  too  abstract, 
too  coldly  scientific,  to  have  any  general  influence  upon 
action,  and  can  therefore  be  of  no  practical  value.  The  con- 
ception of  sin  as  a  phase  of  mal-adjustment  will  be  pro- 
nounced incapable  of  awakening  the  needful  feelings  unless 
there  be  joined  to  it  the  anthropomorphic  symbol  of  an 
offended  God.  And  it  will  moreover  be  asserted  with  vehe- 
tnence,  that  in  place  of  a  Father  whom  men  can  love  and 
/enerate,  we  are  giving  them  a  mere  philosophical  formula, 
tailing  for  no  warmer  feelii?^  than  calm  intellectual  assent 


CH.  V.J  RELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT.  469 

Granting  that  our  doctrine  is  philosophically  the  reverse  of 
atheism,  it  will  be  urged  that  here  extremes  meet,  and  that 
an  infinite  and  therefore  unknowable  God  is  practically 
equivalent  to  no  God  at  alL 

In  reply  to  the  latter  objection  it  is  hardly  necessary  again 
to  remind  the  objector  that  upon  similar  grounds,  and  with 
equal  plausibility,  the  early  Christians  were  called  atheists 
by  their  pagan  adversaries.  The  reproach  of  atheism  has 
been  well  defined,  by  Mr.  R.  W.  Mackay,  to  be  the  reproach 
which  the  adherents  of  a  lower  creed  endeavour  to  cast  upon 
those  of  a  higher  one.  The  less  anthropomorphic  the  symbol 
by  which  Deity  is  represented,  the  less  readily  imaginable  it 
is  as  something  which  can  be  seen,  or  heard,  or  prayed  to,  the 
less  existent  does  it  appear.  And  as  we  proceed  to  take 
away,  one  by  one,  the  attributes  which  limit  Deity,  and 
enable  it  to  be  classified,  we  seem,  no  doubt,  to  be  gradually 
destroying  it  altogether.  Nevertheless,  to  him  who  has  thus 
far  intelligently  followed  this  exposition,  it  will  not  be  neces- 
sary to  demonstrate  that  the  symbolization  of  Deity  indicated 
by  the  profoundest  scientific  analysis  of  to-day  is  as  practi- 
cally real  as  the  symbolization  which  has  resulted  from  the 
attempts  of  antiquity  to  perform  such  an  analysis,  and  is  in 
every  way  more  satisfactory  alike  to  head  and  heart.  To  him 
the  most  refined  anthropomorphism  to  be  met  with  in  current 
theological  treatises  will  no  doubt  seem  as  unsatisfactory  as 
the  anthropomorphism  of  orthodox  "  revivaKsts  "  must  seem 
to  Mr.  Hutton  or  Mr.  INIcrtineau. 

Indeed  there  are  few  philosophical  terms  which  have  more 
thoroughly  brought  out  the  inveterate  tendency  of  men  to 
mistake  the  counters  of  thought  for  its  hard  money  than  this 
term  "Unknowable."  Alike  from  Idealists  and  Positivists, 
Trom  theologians  of  every  school  and  from  penny-a-liners  of 
10  school,  we  hear  long  arguments  based  upon  the  vague 
connotations  which  the  word  "Unknowable"  calls  up,  without 
4ny  reference  to  the  precise  sense  in  which  the  symbo]  is 


ft70  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  in, 

used  in  Mr.  Spencer's  philosophy, — ^nay,  without  even  a  sus- 
picion that  the  symbol  may  have  a  precisu  value  in  some 
measure  purified  from  such  connotations.  At  this  stage  of 
our  exposition,  it  is  enough  to  suggest  the  fallaciousness  of 
such  argumentation,  without  characterizing  it  in  detail.  It 
is  enough  to  remind  the  reader  that  Deity  is  unknowable  just 
in  so  far  as  it  is  not  manifested  to  consciousness  through  the 
phenomenal  world, — knowable  just  in  so  far  as  it  is  thus 
manifested  ;  unknowable  in  so  far  as  infinite  and  absolute, — 
knowable  in  the  order  of  its  phenomenal  manifestations ; 
knowable,  in  a  symbolic  way,  as  the  Power  which  is  disclosed 
in  every  throb  of  the  mighty  rhythmic  life  of  the  universe ; 
knowable  as  the  eternal  Source  of  a  Moral  Law  which  is 
implicated  with  each  action  of  our  lives,  and  in  obedience 
to  which  lies  our  only  guaranty  of  the  happiness  which  is 
incorruptible,  and  which  neither  inevitable  misfortune  nor 
unmerited  obloquy  can  take  away.  Thus,  though  we  may 
not  by  searching  find  out  God,  though  we  may  not  compass 
infinitude  or  attain  to  absolute  knowledge,  we  may  at  least 
know  all  that  it  concerns  us  to  know,  as  intelligent  and 
responsible  beings.^  They  who  seek  to  know  more  than  this, 
to  transcend  the  conditions  under  which  alone  is  knowledge 
possible,  are,  in  Goethe's  profound  language,  as  wise  as  little 
children  who,  when  they  have  looked  into  a  mirror,  turu  it 
around  to  see  what  is  behind  it. 

To  the  other  objection  above  hinted  at  it  may  be  leplied 
that  undoubtedly  the  conception  of  sin  here  developed  is  too 
abstract  to  awaken  the  needful  feelings  in  any  save  those 
who  have  obtained,  either  through  their  own  inquiries  or  by 
the  aid  of  instruction  from  others,  a  firm  grasp  of  some 
philosophic  theory  of  the  universe  like  the  one  crudely 
sketched  in  the  present  work.  For  the  larger  part  of  the 
world  to-day  the  anthropomorphic  doctrine  of  sin  is  un- 
questionably the  better  one, — and  it  is  the  doctrine  held  by 

^  See  above,  vol.  i.  pp.  95,  96. 


IH.  V.J  BELIGION  AS  ADJUSTMENT.  471 

the  larger  part  of  the  world.  If  it  were  possible  for  men  to 
come  by  the  thousand,  as  on  a  second  day  of  Pentecost,  and 
embrace  the  views  here  expounded,  or  others  like  them, 
without  having  slowly  and  surel}^  grown  to  them,  there  would 
be  great  risk  of  their  going  away  with  a  frail  and  unservice- 
able religious  theory.  But  as  it  is  absolutely  certain  that 
such  views  will  never  become  prevalent  until  the  scientific 
philosophy  upon  which  they  are  based  has  become  generally 
understood  and  accepted,  and  as  by  that  time  they  will  neces* 
sarily  have  come  to  appear  quite  substantial  and  practical 
there  appears  to  be  but  little  weight  in  the  objection  re- 
ferred to. 

Indeed,  as  the  next  chapter  will  plainly  show,  nothing  can 
be  farther  from  the  intentions  of  the  scientific  thinker  than 
the  demand  that  contemporary  society  shall  give  up  any  of 
the  religious  doctrines  with  which  it  is  able  to  rest  contented, 
in  exchange  for  doctrines  which  to  all  minds  save  those  suffi- 
ciently instructed  in  science  are  likely  to  seem  shadowy  and 
over-subtle.  Far  from  proposing  to  institute  a  new  religion 
which,  like  Islam,  is  to  overrun  the  world  and  wrench  all 
men  suddenly  from  their  idols,  our  aim  is  simply  to  point 
out  some  of  the  more  important  modifications  which  curren' 
religious  doctrines  seem  destined  to  undergo  in  becoming 
accepted  and  assimilated  by  thinkers  whose  theories  of 
things  are  based  wholly  upon  irrefragable  scientific  truths. 
That  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  which  is  now  the  possession 
of  a  few  disciplined  minds,  will  eventually  become  the 
common  property  of  the  whole  civilized  portion  of  the 
human  race,  is,  to  say  the  least,  very  highly  probable.  In 
view  of  this  probability,  it  seems  to  me  a  worthy  end  for 
our  philosophic  inquiry,  if  we  can  ascertain  that,  in  spite  of 
the  total  change  in  the  symbols  by  which  religious  faith 
finds  its  expression,  nevertheless  the  religious  attitude  of 
mankind  will  remain,  in  all  essential  respects,  unchanged. 
I  shall  endeavour  to  show,  therefore,  in  the  following  chapter, 


472  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  hi. 

that  with  reference  to  the  fundamental  truths  of  Christianity, 
and  likewise  with  reference  to  the  time-honoured  institutions 
which  are  woven  into  the  fabric  of  modern  society,  our 
Cosmic  Philosophy  is  eminently  conservative, — owning  no 
fellowship  either  with  the  radical  Infidelity  of  the  eighteenth 
^ntttiy  or  with  the  world-mending  schemes  of  Positivista. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   CRITICAL  ATTITUDE   OF  PHILOSOPH?. 

OUE  outline-sketch  of  the  Cosmic  Philosophy  based  on  the 
Doctrine  of  Evolution  would  remain  seriously  defective  with- 
out some  account  of  its  critical  bearing  with  reference  to 
past  and  present  religious  beliefs  and  social  institutions. 
Since  the  reception  of  a  number  of  definite  opinions  con- 
cerning man  in  his  relations  to  the  universe  and  to  his 
fellow-creatures  must  leave  their  possessor  in  a  certain  cha- 
racteristic attitude, — aggressive  or  sympathetic,  iconoclastic 
or  conservative, — toward  the  multitude  of  opposite  or  con- 
flicting opinions  by  which  he  is  surrounded,  it  becomes 
desirable  for  us  to  ascertain  whether  the  critical  temper  of 
our  Cosmic  Philosophy  tends  toward  the  subversion  or  the 
conservation  of  that  complex  aggregate  of  beliefs  and  ordi- 
nances which  make  up  the  social  order  amid  which  we  live 
Our  object  will  be  best  attained,  and  our  results  wiU  be 
most  clearly  presented,  if  we  begin  by  considering  some  of 
the  philosophic  contrasts  between  the  statical  and  dynamical 
habits  of  thinking,  to  which  attention  was  called  in  an  earlier 
chapter. 

A  statical  view  of  things,  as  I  have  above  defined  it,  is 
one  which  is  adjusted  solely  or  chiefly  to  relations  existing  in 
the  immediate  environment  of  the  thinker.     Certain  groups 


4H  COSMIC  PHILOSOF BY.  [pt.  m. 

of  physical  phenomena,  certain  psychical  prejudices,  certain 
social  customs,  having  existed  with  tolerable  uniformity  over 
a  limited  portion  of  the  earth's  surface,  it  is  assumed  either 
that  the  given  phenomena  have  always  existed,  or  at  least 
that  they  enter  by  divine  pre-arrangement  into  the  eternal 
order  of  things   in   such  a  way  that   any  thorough-going 
alteration  of  them  must  involve  universal  anarchy  and  ruia 
The  fundamental  doctrine  of  the  philosophy  which  is  deter- 
mined by  this  statical  habit  of  interpreting  phenomena,  is 
the  Doctrine  of  Creation.     The  world  is  supposed  to  have 
been  suddenly  brought   into  existence  at   some  assignable 
epoch,  since  which  time  it  has  remained  substantially  un- 
altered.     Existing  races  of   sentient   creatures  are  held  to 
have  been  created  by  a  miraculous  fiat  in  accordance  with 
sundry  organic   types  which,  as  representing  unchangeable 
ideas  in  the  Divine  Mind,  can  never  be  altered  by  physical 
circumstances.     The  social  institutions  also,  amid  which  the 
particular  statical  theory  originates,  are  either  referred  back 
to  the  foundation  of  the  world,  as  is  the  case  in  early  and 
barbaric  mythologies ;  or  else,  as  is  the  case  wdtli  modern 
uneducated  Christians,  they  are  supposed  to  have  been  intro- 
duced by  miracle  at  a  definite  era  of  history.     In  similar 
wise  the  existing  order  of  things  is  legitimately  to  endure 
until  abruptly  terminated  by  the  direct  intervention  of  an 
extra-cosmic    Power    endowed   with   the    anthropomorphic 
attributes   of   cherishing  intentions  and   of  acting  out  its 
good  pleasure.     Facts  of  palaeontology,  such  as  the  extinc- 
tion of  myriads  of  ancient  animal  and  vegetal  species,  are 
explained  as  the  result  of  innumerable  catastrophes  deter- 
mined by  this  same  extra-cosmic  Deity;  and  strange  geo- 
logic phenomena  are  interpreted  by  the  myth  of  a  universal 
deluge  which  left  them  once  for  all  just  as  we  see  them. 
Likewise  the  social    institutions  and   the   religious   beliefs 
now  existing  by  express  divine  sanction,  must  remain  essen- 
tially unaltered  under  penalty  of  divine  wrath  as  manifested 


IB.  VI.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  4:5 

in  th*^  infliction  upon  society  of  the  evils  of  atheism  and 
anarchy.  Hence,  as  the  Doctrine  of  Creation  is  itself  held 
to  be  one  of  these  divinely-sanctioned  religious  beliefs,  the 
scientific  tendency  to  supersede  this  doctrine  by  the  con- 
ception of  God  as  manifested  not  in  spasmodic  acts  of 
miracle,  but  in  the  gradual  and  orderly  evolution  of  things, 
is  stigmatized  as  an  atheistical  tendency,  and  the  upholders 
of  the  new  view  are  naturally  enough  accredited  with  a 
desire  to  subvert  the  foundations  of  religion  and  of  good 
conduct.  Hence  it  is  that  even  such  scientific  writers  as 
Mr,  Mivart — unable  to  escape  the  evidence  in  favour  of 
Evolution  which  is  supplied  by  their  own  studies,  yet 
somewhat  desperately  clinging  to  the  philosophic  views 
which  are  founded  upon  the  Doctrine  of  Creation — are  now 
and  then  guilty  of  remarks  much  better  befitting  ignorant 
priests  than  men  who  have  lived  in  direct  contact  with 
modern  scientific  thought.  That  dominance  of  the  statical 
habit  of  thinking,  which  leads  Mr.  Mivart  to  prefer  the 
irregular  action  of  "  sudden  jumps  "  to  the  slow  but  regular 
operation  of  natural  selection,  leads  him  also  to  assert  that 
the  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  as  consistently  held  by  Prof. 
Huxley,  tends  toward  the  intellectual  and  moral  degrada- 
tion of  mankind  and  toward  the  genesis  of  "  horrors  worse 
than  those  of  the  Parisian  Commune !  "  * 

Before  proceeding  to  show  how  assertions  of  this  sort  are, 
from  the  evolutionist's  point  of  view,  as  reckless  and  absurd 
as,  from  Mr.  Mivart's  point  of  view,  they  are  justifiable  and 
logical,  let  us  note  that  the  statical  habit  of  thinking  is  by 
no  means  monopolized  by  the  orthodox,  or  by  those  whose 
philosophic  theories  consist  mainly  of  elements  inherited 
from  primeval  mythology.  The  progress  of  scientific  dis- 
covery since  the  time  of  Galileo  and  Bacon  has  but  gradually, 
and  as  its  newest  result,  established  the  Doctrine  of  Evo- 
lution; yet  it  has,  from  the  very  outset,  assumed  a  hostile 
*  Contemporary  Review,  January  1872,  p.  196. 


476  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  iii. 

Rttitude  toward  the  body  of  mythical  conceptions  of  which 
the  current  Christian  theologies  have  been  largely  made  up. 
The  consequence  of  this  has  been  the  rise  of  a  purely  nega- 
tive iconoclastic  style  of  criticism,  both  in  religion  and  in 
politics,  which,  in  spite  of  its  deadly  hostility  to  the  pre- 
vailing orthodoxy,  has  nevertheless  been  equally  characterized 
by  theories  and  aims  which  are  the  products  of  the  old 
statical  habits  of  thought.  While  orthodoxy  and  its  com- 
panion legitimism  have  regarded  the  existing  religious  and 
social  order,  not  as  a  product  of  evolution,  but  as  a  divinely- 
appointed  and  therefore  eternally  sacred  order  of  things ; 
on  the  other  hand  iconoclasm,  whether  manifested  in  religion 
or  in  politics,  has  regarded  the  existing  order  of  things,  not 
as  a  product  of  evolution,  but  as  the  work  of  artful  priests 
and  legislators  of  antiquity,  which  may  accordingly  be 
destroyed  as  summarily  as  it  was  created.  Even  while 
justly  inveighing,  therefore,  against  patent  absurdities  or 
flagrant  wrongs  in  the  established  order  of  things,  the  iconox 
clast  proceeds  from  a  point  of  view  as  untenable  as  that 
occupied  by  his  orthodox  antagonist.  Eejecting  the  mythical 
conception  of  the  established  order  as  in  any  especial  sense 
divinely-appointed,  he  nevertheless  borrows  from  the  old 
mythology  its  notion  of  cataclysms,  and  vainly  imagines 
that  beliefs  and  institutions  which  suit  the  intellectual  and 
moral  needs  of  half  the  world  can  be  incontinently  eradicated 
or  overthrown  by  direct  assaults  from  without.  Seasoning, 
then,  upon  this  inadequate  basis,  and  being  as  incapable  of 
appreciating  sympathetically  the  beliefs  of  a  bygone  age  as 
his  orthodox  opponent  is  incapable  of  emancipating  himself 
from  such  beliefs,  the  controversy  between  the  two  becomes 
naturally  barren  of  profit  though  fruitful  in  recrimination  ; 
and  each  regards  the  other  with  a  dislike  or  a  distrust  which, 
though  justifiable  enough  when  considered  from  the  points  of 
view  respectively  occupied  by  the  antagonists,  nevertheless 


SH.  VI.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PMILOSOPHY.  477 

seems  bariaric  or  childish  to  those  who  have  reached  a  highei 
Btand-point. 

This  higher  stand-point  is  furnished  by  what  I  have  called 
the  dynamical  habit  of  looking  at  things  as  continually 
changing  in  a  definite  and  irreversible  order  of  sequence. 
That  this  habit  should  not  have  been  acquired,  save  by  two 
or  three  isolated  minds,  until  the  present  century,  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at,  since  for  the  full  acquirement  of  it  there  is 
needed  a  familiarity  with  scientific  conceptions  of  genesis 
which  could  not  have  been  gained  at  any  earlier  date.  But 
as  soon  as  the  tendency  to  contemplate  all  phenomena  as 
the  products  of  preceding  phenomena  has  become  fairly 
established,  a  marked  change  is  noticeable  in  the  current 
style  of  criticism.  The  comparative  method  is  found  to  be 
as  applicable  to  religious  beliefs  and  social  or  political  in- 
stitutions as  it  is  to  placental  mammals  or  to  pluperfect 
tenses.  And  so  the  habit  of  regarding  the  existing  order  of 
things  as  on  the  one  hand  ordained  of  God  or  on  the  other 
hand  maliciously  contrived  by  the  Devil  gradually  fades 
away,  and  is  replaced  by  the  habit  of  regarding  it  as  evolved 
:iom  some  preceding  order  of  things,  and  as  in  turn  destined 
normally  to  evolve  some  future  order.  Hence  the  evolutionist 
perceives  tliat  it  is  not  by  mere  controversial  argument  that 
mankind  can  be  led  to  exchange  the  mythological  for  the 
scientific  point  of  view.  He  regards  the  process  as  one,  not 
of  sudden  conversion,  but  of  slow  growth,  which  can  be 
accomplished  only  by  the  gradual  acquirement  of  new  habits 
of  thought, — habits  that  are  formed  day  by  day  and  year  by 
year,  in  the  course  of  a  long  contact,  whether  immediate  or 
not,  with  the  results  of  scientific  inquiry.  Thus  the  evolu- 
tionist owns  no  fellowship  with  Jacobins  and  Infidels,  for 
he  has  learned  that  engrained  habits  of  thought  and  favourite 
theories  of  the  world,  being  the  products  of  circumstances, 
oiust  be  to  a  certain  extent  adapted  to  the  circumstance* 
umid  which  they  exist ;  and  he  knows  that  they  cannot  be 


478  COSMIC  FHILOSOPMT,  [pt.  hi. 

destroyed,  and  ought  not  to  be  destroyed,  save  as  they  are 
gradually  supj)lanted  by  habits  of  thought  that  are  relatively 
more  accurate  and  by  theories  of  the  world  that  are  r-^latively 
more  complete. 

In  view  of  these  considerations  we  may  the  better  com- 
prehend the  significance — upon  which  I  formerly  (Part  I. 
chap,  vii.)  insisted — of  the  change  in  the  attitude  of  philo- 
sophy of  which  Comte's  celebrated  doctrine  of  the  "  Three 
Stages  "  was  partly  the  cause  and  partly  the  symptom.     In 
spite  of  his  hostility  to  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  in  most  of 
the  forms  in  which  he  came  into  contact  with  it  as  techni- 
cally stated,  Comte  was  nevertheless  thoroughly  inspired  by 
the  comparative  method,  so  far  as  the  study  of  history  was 
concerned.     As  far  as  was  possible  with  his  slender  scientific 
resources,  he  looked  at  human  affairs  with  the  eye  of  an 
evolutionist.     When  he  announced  it  as  a  law  that  every 
human  conception  must  pass  through  three  stages — the  theo- 
logical, the  metaphysical,  and  the  positive — though  his  state- 
ment was  a  crude  one,  it  nevertheless  clearly  showed  that  a 
time  had  come  when  opinions  were  no  longer  to  be  tried  by 
their  conformity  to  some  absolute  standard,  whether  of  ortho- 
doxy or  of  radicalism,  but  were  henceforth  to  be  estimated 
in  their  relations  to  the  circumstances  which  had  given  rise 
to  them. 

Those  who  have  most  carefully  studied  the  iconoclastic  phi- 
losophy of  Voltaire  and  the  Encyclopedistes  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  will  best  appreciate  the  character  and  extent  of  the 
revolution  in  the  attitude  of  philosophy  which  was  effected 
jy  this  new  method  of  criticism.  In  the  opinion  of  those 
metaphysical  thinkers,  everything  old  was  wrong,  and  any- 
thing new  was  likely  to  be  right.  They  classified  men,  not 
relatively,  as  ancients,  medieevals  and  moderns,  but  absolutely 
us  fools  and  philosophers ;  the  philosophers  being  all  who 
subscribed  to  the  doctrines  of  the  EncyclopMie,  the  foola 
being  all  those  who  believed  in  miracles  or  in  a  personal  God, 


«H.  Ti.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  470 

So  utterly  destitute  were  they  of  tliat  historic  sense  which 
enables  the  critic  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  epoch  which 
he  is  criticizing,  that  they  could  not  interpret  the  mythology 
of  antiquity  and  the  theologic  dogmas  of  the  mediaeval 
Church  otherwise  than  as  a  set  of  ingenious  devices  con- 
trived  by  priests  and  rulers  for  the  ensnaring  and  subjugation 
of  mankind.  Perhaps  nothing  can  better  illustrate  the  bar- 
renness of  their  point  of  view  than  their  undiscriminating 
admiration  for  the  emperor  Julian,  whose  memory  they 
exalted  because  of  his  attempt  to  stop  the  progress  of  Chris- 
tianity; this  being  the  very  reason  for  which  that  monarch 
is  now  justly  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  blindly  retrograde 
statesmen  that  ever  lived.  Such  was  their  criticism — a  mere 
bald  negation  and  disavowal  of  all  that  had  preceded  them. 
And  such  being  their  criticism,  such  also  was  their  political 
philosophy — an  unqualified  protest,  primarily  against  feudal- 
ism, monopoly  and  divine  right,  but  ultimately,  as  carried  out 
by  Kousseau,  against  all  constraint  whatever  of  man  by  man, 
and  therefore  against  the  very  constitution  of  society.  The 
immortal  pamphlet  in  which  this  greatest  of  sophists  sought 
to  demonstrate  that  all  civilization,  all  science,  and  all  specu- 
lative culture  is  but  an  error  and  a  failure,  and  that  the 
only  remed)'-  lies  in  a  return  to  primitive  barbarism, — was 
the  legitimate  outcome  and  reduetio  ad  dbsurdum  of  a  philo- 
sophy which  began  by  forcibly  severing  itself  from  all  historic 
sympathy  with  the  time-hallowed  traditions  of  our  race. 

Such  a  philosophy  may  end,  as  it  has  ended,  in  anarchy  of 
thought,  but  not  in  rational  conviction.  It  cannot  organize 
a  new  framework  of  opinions,  nor  can  it  even  thoroughly 
accomplish  the  task  of  destroying  the  old  framework.  It 
may  indeed,  as  it  has  done  here  and  there,  knock  the  vener- 
able edifice  into  unshapely  ruin,  but  it  cannot  sweep  away 
the  cumbersome  debris,  and  leave  the  ground  clear  foi  the 
Erection  of  a  new  and  more  permanent  structure.  It  dis- 
credits altogether  too  profoundly  the  earnest  work  of  thai 


480  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [ft.  iil 

average  human  intelligence  of  past  times,  from  which  all 
our  individual  intelligences,  with  all  their  real  or  fancied 
enlightenment,  are  both  by  instruction  and  by  inheritance 
derived.  To  refute  the  mediaeval  conception  of  the  world, 
without  accounting  for  its  long  predominance,  was  to  leave 
it  but  half  refuted.  And  accordingly,  when  this  negative 
philosophy  was  brought  to  a  practical  test  by  the  Eevolution 
of  1789,  its  inefficiency,  both  for  construction  of  the  new, 
and  for  thorough  destruction  of  the  old,  was  made  painfully 
manifest.  It  soon  became  evident  that  more  than  one  brick 
of  the  mediaeval  edifice  had  been  left  standing,  to  serve  as 
an  obstruction.  In  France — then  the  centre  of  the  European 
intellectual  movement — there  set  in  a  powerful  reaction. 
Against  the  revolutionary  school  of  negative  philosophers 
and  anarchical  statesmen,  there  asserted  itself  a  retrograde 
school,  which  saw  no  escape  save  in  a  return  to  the  mediaeval 
conception  of  the  world  and  a  renewal  of  adherence  to 
mediaeval  principles  of  action.  This  retrograde  movement  was 
represented  in  politics  by  Napoleon,  the  latter  half  of  whose 
career  was  characterized  by  the  conscious  effort  to  imitate 
the  achievements  of  Charles  the  Great ;  in  literature  by 
Chateaubriand ;  in  psychology  by  Laromiguiere  and  Maine 
de  Biran ;  and  in  general  philosophy  by  Joseph  de  Maistre. 
The  last-named  writer,  who,  for  reasons  easily  explicable, 
has  been  too  little  studied,  and  whose  true  position  in  the 
history  of  thought  Comte  was  the  first  to  perceive  and  point 
out,  will  perhaps  be  remembered  by  future  generations  as 
the  last  heroic  champion  of  a  lost  cause.  Like  Don  Diego 
Garcia,  whom  Cervantes  has  immortalized,  this  unterrified 
knight  took  it  upon  himself  to  defend  single-handed  the 
fastnesses  of  mediaeval  theology  against  the  whole  invading 
>rmy  of  modern  scientific  conceptions.  With  that  uncom- 
promising  fanaticism  which  characterizes  men  who  abandon 
sritical  reflection  in  order  to  constitute  themselves  the  advo- 
eates  of  a  cause,  De  Maistre  undertook  to  annihilate  physical 


3H.  VI.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY,  'i81 

ficience  and  the  group  of  philosophic  notions  to  which  its 
discoveries  had  given  rise.  According  to  him,  Kant  was  an 
ignorant  charhitan,  Bacon  an  atheist  in  hypocritical  dis- 
guise, and  the  so-called  Baconian  philosophy  "  a  spiritless 
materialism,"  uncertain  and  unsteady  in  its  expression,  frivo- 
lous in  tone,  and  full  of  fallacies  in  every  assertion.  In  place 
of  this  "  spiritless  materialism "  he  would  give  us  the  full- 
blown Catholicism  of  the  days  of  Hildebrand,  every  subse- 
quent variation  from  which  has,  in  his  opinion,  been  due,  not 
to  disinterested  seeking  after  higher  truth,  hut  to  a  madness  of 
neologism,  a  diseased  craving  after  new  and  strange  devices. 

In  these  interesting  opinions — interesting  because  they 
come,  not  from  a  peevish  and  ignorant  priest,  hut  from  a 
man  of  wide  culture,  worldly  wisdom,  and  undoubted  intel- 
lectual power — may  be  seen  the  violence  of  the  reaction 
against  that  negative  philosophy  which,  in  its  effort  to  break 
entii'ely  with  the  past,  had  assisted  in  bringing  about  the 
speculative  atheism  and  practical  anarchy  of  1793.  We  have 
now  to  note  that,  from  the  statical  point  of  view  which  he 
occupied,  De  Maistre  was  perfectly  right  in  regarding  modern 
scientific  thought  as  an  enemy  to  society  which  must  be  put 
down  at  whatever  cost.  Tor  as  modern  science  had  not  yet 
reached  that  conception  of  gradual  change  which  underlies 
the  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  while  it  had  become  distinctly 
conscious  of  its  hostility  to  the  current  mythologies,  it  as- 
sumed the  attitude  of  Atheism  with  reference  to  Christian 
theology  and  of  Jacobinism  with  reference  to  the  institu- 
tions of  Christian  society.  Now  it  is  perfectly  true  that 
the  practical  outcome  of  these  kindred  forms  of  icono- 
clasm,  could  they  be  allowed  to  have  their  way  unhindered, 
would  be  the  dissolution  of  society  and  the  return  to  primeval 
barbarism.  For  since  it  is  impossible  for  a  given  state  of 
.jfvilization  to  be  made  to  order,  even  by  the  greatest  political 
^•enius,  or  to  be  produced  in  any  way  save  by  evolution  from 
in  antecedent  state,  it  follows  that  the  dissolution  of  the 

VOL,  II.  I  I 


482  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [px.  in, 

social  relations  existing  at  any  epocli  would  simply  leave  the 
work  of  civilization  to  be  (at  least,  to  a  great  extent)  done 
over  again.  An  instructive  historical  example  of  such  a  dis- 
Bolution  of  social  relations,  partially  effected,  and  of  the 
consequent  partial  return  toward  barbarism,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  history  of  Romanized  Europe  from  the  fourth  to  the 
tenth  centuries  of  the  Christian  era.  And  as  this  partial 
dissolution  cannot  be  referred  solely  to  the  barbaric  attacks 
from  without — which  during  at  least  seven  centuries  had 
been  steadily  kept  up  without  impairing  the  integrity  of  the 
Empire — it  must  be  referred  to  causes  operative  within ;  to 
the  demoralization  consequent  upon  general  scepticism  as  to 
the  validity  of  the  principles  of  action  by  which  men  had 
formerly  been  guided.  Now  the  violent  breaking  up  of  the 
feudal  and  mediaeval  Christian  system,  which  occurred 
during  the  last  century,  was  attended  by  some  of  the  same 
dangerous  symptoms  as  those  which  marked  the  dissolution 
of  ancient  polytheism  and  ancient  notions  of  civic  patriotism; 
though  in  the  modern  case  the  succession  of  phenomena 
was  more  rapid,  and  there  were  no  assaults  from  outside 
barbarism  to  complicate  matters.  We  have  lately  remarked 
upon  the  curious  phenomenon  of  a  free-thinker,  like  Eous- 
seau,  openly  advocating  a  return  to  barbarism,  upon  the 
ground — which  admirably  illustrates  his  statical  view  of 
things — that  social  relations  were  due  to  a  primitive  con- 
tract, from  which  the  contracting  parties  might  at  any  time 
v/ithdraw.  It  is  also  worth  noting  that,  under  the  practical 
application  of  Eousseau's  doctrines  by  his  apparently  well- 
meaning  but  narrow-minded  and  fanatical  disciple,  Kobes- 
pierre,  the  rejection  of  Christianity  was  followed  by  an  act 
of  adoration  toward  a  courtesan  which  would  have  been 
more  in  keeping  with  early  polytheistic  ages,  and  the  over- 
throw of  feudal  tyranny  was  followed  by  a  mode  of  settling 
political  questions  such  as  is  normally  practised  only  among 
•ocieties  of  primitive  type.      It  is  significaut  also,  to  th« 


SH.  VI.]  TEE  ATTITUDE  OF  PEILOSOPBT.  483 

evolutionism,  that  this  partial  dissolution  of  social  relations 
should  have  been  followed  by  that  disgraceful  epoch  in 
which  principles  of  international  equity  worthy  only  of 
Attila  or  Genghis  Khan  were  embodied  in  the  barbarous 
ethical  code  of  the  First  Empire. 

A  still  more  complete  illustration  of  the  tendency  of  pure 
iconoclasm  tow^ard  social  dissolution  is  to  be  found  in  certain 
radical  theories  concerning  labour,  property,  and  marriage, 
which  have  been  current  during  the  present  century  among 
people  untrained  in  science  and  unfamiliar  with  the  lessons 
of  history,  and  which  played  their  part  in  shaping  the 
policy  of  the  Parisian  Commune  of  1871.  For  the  purposes 
of  our  inquiry  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  offer  a  matured 
judgment  concerning  this  unfortunate  historical  transaction 
in  all  its  actual  complexity,  even  were  I  competent  to  do  so. 
It  is  enough  for  us  to  remember  that  among  those  political 
leaders  who  sought  to  inaugurate  the  reign  of  the  Commune, 
a  considerable  number  professed  to  hold  the  doctrines  com- 
monly known  as  communistic,  and  that  the  social  relations 
which  they  were  intent  upon  establishing  are  precisely  those 
which  Sir  Henry  Maine  has  shown  to  have  existed  among 
primeval  men,  and  which  ^xist  to-day  among  the  lowest 
races.  This  desire  to  return  to  the  community  of  property 
and  of  wives  characteristic  of  primitive  savagery,  to  regulate 
human  concerns  by  status  and  not  by  contract,  to  crush  out 
capital  and  with  it  the  possibility  of  any  industrial  integra- 
tion, to  abolish  the  incentives  which  make  man  sow  to-day 
that  he  may  reap  in  the  future,  to  destroy  social  differentia- 
tion by  constraining  all  persons  alike  to  manual  labour,  to 
strangle  intellectual  progress  by  permitting  scientific  inquiry 
only  to  such  as  might  succeed  in  convincing  a  committee  of 
vgnorant  workmen  that  their  discoveries  were  likely  to  be 
practically  useful,  to  smother  all  individualism  under  a  social 
tyranny  more  absolute  than  the  Hindu  despotism  of  caste ; 
this  desire,  it  is  obvious,  is  simply  the  abnormal  desire  to 

I  I  2 


484  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [ft.  iiL 

undo  every  one  of  the  things  in  the  doing  of  which  yve  have 
seen  that  social  evolution  consists.  It  is,  in  short,  the  theory 
of  Kousseau  unflinchingly  carried  into  details,  though,  in  defer- 
ence to  the  watchwords  of  the  present  age,  it  is  couched  in 
expressions  which  imply  a  sympathy  with  human  progress. 

For  such  abnormal  plienomena  as  those  of  the  Terror  and 
the  Commune,  there  is  no  doubt  a  deeper  cause  than  the 
prevalence  of  anarchical  social  and  religious  theories.  Such 
phenomena  are  strictly  analogous  to  those  of  disease,  indi- 
cating that  sundr}'-  social  functions  are  out  of  balance,  and 
that  the  social  organism  is  violently  striving  to  regain  equi- 
librium even  at  the  risk  of  premature  dissolution.  Scienti- 
fically considered,  the  Commune  was  a  case  of  retrograde 
metamorphosis,  quite  analogous  to  cancer  in  the  individual 
organism  ;  and  it  was  due  to  a  minor  failure  of  adjustment 
incident  upon  a  rapid  change  in  the  social  environment. 
Increased  wealth  and  a  heightened  standard  of  comfortable 
living,  entailing  prolonged  labour  and  more  intense  brain- 
work,  leave  the  least  industrious  and  intelligent  members  of 
the  community  in  misery  little  removed  from  starvation. 
And  while  under  the  unchecked  operation  of  natural  selec- 
tion these  unadapted  members  of  the  community  would 
soon  perish,  as  the  lunatic  and  the  drunkard  would  perish, 
we  nevertheless  save  them  artificially,  as  we  artificially 
protect  the  drunkard  and  the  lunatic ;  and  we  do  so  rightly, 
because  the  repression  of  our  humanitarian  feelings  would 
entail  far  greater  damage  to  society  than  the  survival  of 
these  incapables.  But  in  surviving  they  constitute  a  growth 
of  a  lower  order  of  vitality,  like  a  cancer  implanted  in  nobler 
tissues,  and  their  effort  is  to  abolish  a  civilization  of  which 
their  own  misery  is,  for  the  time  being,  the  inevitable  result, 
and  to  reinstate  that  primitive  order  of  things  in  which  the 
strong  fist  and  the  strong  passions  were  not  yet  at  the  mercy 
of  the  keen  intelligence  and  the  large  capacity  for  toil 
Hfite,  as  in   the  case   of  the   abnormal   individual  desires 


m.  ^'I.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  485 

treated  in  the  concluding  chapter  of  Part  II.,  "we  find  a 
number  of  unadjusted  cravings  which  natural  selection  can 
but  imperfectly  deal  with,  and  wdiich  it  must  be  left  for  some 
process  of  direct  adaptation  slowly  to  adjust.  An  analogous 
though  not  entirely  similar  explanation  will  apply  to  the 
case  of  Kobespierre  and  the  Terror. 

But  while  such  pathological  phenomena  can  by  no  means 
be  explained  as  solely  due  to  certain  anarchical  theories 
social  and  religious,  it  still  remains  true  that  between  the 
abnormal  social  phenomena  and  the  anarchical  theories  there 
is  a  very  close  kinship ;  such  that  the  theory  finds  itself 
practically  incarnated  in  the  social  event,  while  it  is  through 
the  anarchical  theory  that  the  abnormal  social  event  finds 
itself  redeemed  from  the  odium  attaching  to  sheer  criminal 
malevolence,  and  entitled  to  that  slight  modicum  of  credit 
which  we  are  wont  to  accord  to  sincerity  when  allied  with 
destructive  fanaticism.  It  is  as  true  that  the  iconoclastic 
theory  naturally  lends  itself  to  the  purposes  of  the  Jacobin 
or  the  Communist,  as  it  is  that  the  Jacobin  or  the  Com- 
munist naturally  justifies  to  himself  his  purposes  by  an 
appeal  to  the  iconoclastic  theory.  Hence  it  is  undeniable 
that  when  modern  scientific  thought,  not  yet  having  reached 
a  dynamical  view  of  things,  allied  itself  to  the  spirit  of  mere 
negative  protest  against  existing  beliefs  and  institutions,  it 
might  well  have  seemed  to  a  thinker  like  De  IMaistre  to  be 
irreconcilably  hostile  to  all  the  habits  and  aspirations  which 
give  to  civilized  life  its  value. 

Now  the  dynamical  view  of  things,  however  crudely  an- 
nounced by  Comte  in  his  theory  of  the  "  Three  Stages," 
-iflered  widely  from  the  statical  view  of  De  Maistro ;  for  it 
proclaimed  that  we  must  found  our  general  conception  of  the 
world  and  our  plans  for  social  amelioration  upon  a  synthesis 
of  special  scientific  truths,  established  by  the  v.se  of  the 
objective  method,  and  not  upon  a  congeries  of  theological 
dogmas,  established  originally  by  the  use  of  the  subjective 


486  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  hi 

niethod,  and  afterwards  certified  only  by  a  perennial  appeal 
to  some  authority  assumed  as  infallible.  It  differed  eq^ually 
from  the  statical  view  represented  by  the  iconoclasm  of  the 
eighteenth  century  ;  for  it  said,  we  cannot  ignore  the  past, 
or  treat  it  with  contumely :  the  men  who  originated  mytho- 
logical explanations  of  natural  phenomena  were  neither 
knaves  nor  the  dupes  of  knaves,  but  genuine  philosophers 
who  made  the  best  use  of  such  implements  of  research  as 
lay  before  them  :  men's  conceptions  of  the  world  have  been 
progressively  stripped  of  their  anthropomorphic  vestments, 
and  the  scientific  mode  of  thought,  which,  manifesting  itself 
here  and  there  in  fragmentary  generalizations,  has  all  along 
been  determining  the  progress,  must  ultimately,  organized 
in  a  series  of  grand,  all-embracing  generalizations,  reign 
supreme :  the  history  of  human  thought  is  thus  a  develop- 
ment, and  each  creed  or  system,  no  matter  how  absurd  it 
may  at  first  appear,  is  a  phase  of  that  development ;  so  that 
to  construct  a  philosophy  or  a  polity  de  novo,  out  of  abstract 
principles,  without  reference  to  the  concrete  facts  of  past 
history,  is  simply  to  build  a  castle  in  the  air. 

Thus  would  Comte  have  answered  on  the  one  hand  the 
Jacobins  and  on  the  other  hand  the  Ultramontanes,  with 
both  of  whom  he  has,  by  a  strange  but  not  inexplicable  fate, 
been  charged  with  owning  fellowship.  Thus  we  arrive  at 
the  philosophic  explanation  of  the  unparalleled  range  of  his 
historic  sympathies,  of  the  generous  recognition  which  he 
was  excv  ready  to  accord  to  the  crude  but  needful  and  ser- 
viceable beliefs  and  institutions  of  earlier  ages,  and  to  their 
representative  men  of  whatever  creed.  And  thus,  too,  we 
are  enabled  to  appreciate  one  of  Comte's  principal  reasons 
for  calling  his  system  of  philosophy  "  Positive."  In  sharp 
contrast  with  the  negative  philosophy  of  the  atheists  and 
Jacobins,  its  purpose  was  not  to  overthrow  old  beliefs  by  an 
assault  from  without,  but  to  construct,  upon  the  basis  of  the 
Dositive  truths  already  furnished  by  science,  a  i.ew  system  oi 


cH.  Ti.]  THS  ATTITUDE  OF  PUILOSOtBY.  487 

beliefs,  which  should  account  for  the  old  ones  and  supplant 
them  by  sheer  force  of  its  superior  catholicity.  For  five 
centuries,  said  Comte,  science  has  been  arrayed  in  apparent 
hostility  to  religion,  and  philosophy  has  been  chiefly  employed 
in  disintegrating  Christian  theology  and  feudalism  :  th?  time 
lias  now  come  for  this  negative  work  to  be  regarded  only  as 
incidental  to  the  positive  work  of  integrating  scientific  truths 
into  a  body  of  philosophic  doctrine,  upon  which  may  ulti 
mately  rest  a  new  theory  of  religion  and  a  reorganized  social 
polity. 

As  thus  described,  the  critical  attitude  assumed  by  Posi- 
tivism may  appear  to  be  identical  with  that  which  is  the 
result  of  a  thorough  adherence  to  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution. 
There  is,  however,  a  profound  difference  between  the  position 
of  the  evolutionist  and  that  of  the  positivist,  which  it  is  well 
worth  our  while  to  characterize  at  some  length,  even  at  the 
risk  of  an  apparent  digression.  Our  subject  is  so  very  com- 
plex, by  reason  of  the  wide  range  of  its  practical  applications, 
that  we  sliall  be  greatly  helped — as  we  have  already  on  many 
occasions  been  helped — by  contrasting  our  own  view  with 
that  Comtean  view  which  superficially  resembles  it,  Wlien 
we  have  noticed  the  two  great  errors — both  of  them  due  to 
imperfect  apprehension  of  the  nature  of  evolution,  which  left 
Conite,  in  spite  of  himself,  in  an  attitude  of  hostility  both 
to  the  current  Christian  theology  and  to  the  existing  frame- 
work of  society,  we  shall  have  virtually  illustrated,  with 
satisfactory  clearness,  our  own  conservative  point  of  view. 

In  the  chapter  on  Anthropomorphism  and  Cosmism  the 
first  of  the  two  fatal  errors  of  Positivism  was  elaborately 
described  and  criticized.  It  was  shown  that,  although  by  his 
theory  of  the  three  stages  Comte  announced  his  philosophy 
as  a  continuous  development  from  older  theological  philo- 
sophies, and  although  he  declared  himself  determined  not  to 
break  with  the  past,  yet  nevertheless  his  explicit  ignoring  of 
Deity  constituted  in  itself  a  breach  with  the  past  which  no 


488  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [ft.  hi. 

amount  of  continuity  in  other  respects  could  remedy  or  atone 
for.  We  saw  that,  in  spite  of  their  numberless  superficial 
differences,  all  historic  religions  have  been  at  one  in  the 
affirmation  of  a  Supreme  Power  upon  which  man  is  de- 
pendent ;  and  we  saw  that  with  respect  to  this  affirmation 
our  Cosmic  Philosophy  is  as  much  at  one  with  Christianity 
as  Christianity  is  at  one  with  older  religious  philosophies. 
On  the  other  hand  it  is  self-evident  that  there  can  be  no 
continuity  of  development  between  a  system  of  thought 
which  affirms  this  truth  and  a  system  of  thought  which 
either  denies  it,  like  Atheism,  or  ignores  it,  like  Positivism. 
In  this  respect  it  cannot  be  questioned  that  Comte  broke 
with  the  past  as  completely  as  if  he  had  been  a  dogmatic 
atheist.  Hence  is  to  be  explained  his  utterly  unphilosophical 
attempt  to  found  a  new  religion.  In  his  earlier  scheme  no 
place  is  left  for  religion  at  all ;  but  when,  by  an  afterthought, 
he  recognized  the  existence  in  mankind  of  a  religious  senti- 
ment which  demands  satisfaction,  his  ignoring  of  Deity  led 
him  to  the  construction  of  an  artificial  religious  scheme  from 
which  the  essential  element  of  religion  was  entirely  omitted. 
Had  he  recognized  this  essential  element,  he  would  have 
seen  that  the  time  for  instituting  ne\y  religions  has  long 
since  passed  by,  and  that  religious  progress  in  future  is 
possible  only  through  the  gradual  evolution  of  Christianity 
itself  into  higher  and  higher  forms. 

The  second  fatal  error  in  Positivism  is  the  opinion  that 
society  can  be  reorganized  by  philosophy.  To  demonstrate 
mew  the  fallaciousness  of  this  opinion,  which  underlies  the 
whole  Comtean  effort  to  reconstruct  human  society  after  a 
Utopian  model,  would  be  but  to  repeat  the  arguments  which 
have  formed  the  woof  of  our  chapters  on  sociology.  If  there 
is  any  convincing  power  in  the  multitude  of  mutually  har- 
moniou/)  proofs  which  were  there  accumulated,  we  must  be 
already  convinced  that  men  are  civilized,  not  by  a  mere 
change  in  their  formulas  of  belief,  but  only  by  a  change  in 


CH.  VI.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY,  489 

their  type  of  character  which  can  be  effected  only  through  a 
considerable  lapse  of  time.  This  is  the  reason  why  civiliza- 
tions cannot  be  made,  but  must  grow.  AVe  differ  from  the 
ancient  Angles  and  Saxons,  not  so  much  because  we  know 
more  than  they  knew,  as  because  we  have  undergone  fifteen 
centuries  more  of  social  discipline  which  has  perceptibly 
modified  our  character,  and  with  it  our  moral  ideals.  If 
Comte  had  ever  Mrmly  grasped  the  theorem  "  that  society  is 
to  be  reorganized  only  by  the  accumulated  effects  of  habit 
upon  character,"  he  would  have  held  himself  aloof  from 
projects  which  could  have  no  meaning  save  on  the  hypothesis 
that  society  can  be  reorganized  by  philosophy.  He  would 
have  seen  that  though  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge 
may  make  us  like  gods,  knowing  good  and  evil,  it  is  only  the 
tree  of  life  which  can  renovate  our  souls  and  fit  us  for 
Paradise. 

But  now,  since  society  grows,  but  is  not  made ;  since  men 
cannot  be  taught  a  higher  state  of  civilization,  but  can  only 
be  bred  into  it ;  it  follows  that  the  whole  Comtean  attempt 
to  construct  an  ideal  Polity,  including  a  new  religion  and 
new  social  institutions,  was — save  as  a  warning  for  future 
thinkers — ^just  so  much  labour  thrown  away.  After  all  his 
profound  and  elaborate  survey  of  human  history,  Comte 
strangely  forgot  that  the  sum-total  of  beliefs  and  institutions 
in  the  twentieth  century  wiU  be  the  legitimate  offspring  of 
the  sum-total  of  beliefs  and  institutions  in  the  nineteenth, 
but  can  in  no  case  be  the  offspring  of  an  individual  intellect, 
even  were  that  intellect  ten  times  more  powerful  than 
Comte's.  No  individual  will  has  ever  succeeded  in  re- 
modelling society  in  conformity  to  a  prescribed  id«aL  Per- 
haps no  single  man,  if  we  except  the  Founder  of  Christianity, 
has  ever  made  his  individual  character  and  genius  count  for 
80  much  in  the  subsequent  direction  of  human  events  as 
Julius  Csesar.  But  Caesar  never  reconstructed  society,  and, 
though  not  instructed  in  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  would 


490  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHT.  [pt.  i« 

have  felt  such  a  task  to  be  simply  an  impossibility.  The 
secret  of  Caesar's  greatness,  and  of  his  success,  lay  in  th« 
wondious  common-sense  with  which  he  perceived  the  true 
significance  of  contemporary  events,  and  in  the  unflinching 
perseverance  with  which  he  wrought  out  the  political  system 
for  which  society  was  already  yearning,  and  which  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  times  rendered  indispensable  to  the  main* 
tenance  of  civilization.  This  has  been  the  secret  of  the 
success  of  all  statesmen  of  the  highest  order;  of  Charles  the 
Great  and  Hildebrand,  as  well  as  of  William  the  Silent, 
Edward  I.  of  England,  Henry  IV.  of  France,  and  Eichelieu, 
By  a  sagacious  instinct  these  great  men  felt,  though  they 
could  not  scientifically  explain,  the  direction  in  which 
human  affairs  were  naturally  tending;  and  it  was  because 
they  shaped  their  efforts  with  a  view  to  assist,  and  not  to 
check  or  warp,  the  resistless  tendencies  of  society,  that  they 
succeeded  in  stamping  their  individualities  so  powerfully 
upon  history.  It  is  from  the  lack  of  this  sagacity  that  the 
ablest  retrograde  statesmen  have  either  failed  utterly,  or  at 
best  succeeded  only  in  working  wanton  mischief.  Julian, 
and  Philip  II.  of  Spain,  occupied  positions  which  enabled 
them  to  wield  enormous  power,  and  the  former  was  a  man  of 
signal  ability  and  undoubtedly  good  intentions.  Yet  Julian 
wholly  failed  to  see  that  Platonic  Paganism,  however  well 
adapted  it  may  have  been  to  the  sporadic,  municipal  civiliza- 
tion of  antiquity,  was  no  longer  adapted  to  the  intellectual 
and  moral  needs  of  men  living  under  the  Eoman  Empire. 
Hence  his  insensate  attempt  to  destroy  the  only  religious 
organization  capable  of  holding  society  together  during  the 
perilous  times  that  were  coming;  an  attempt  which  his 
early  death  fortunately  frustrated  before  it  had  been  per- 
sisted in  long  enough  to  work  much  social  disturbance. 
Philip  II.,  a  man  of  mediocre  ability  and  hopelessly  vulgar 
egoism,  might  yet  have  done  a  good  work,  could  he  ever  have 
been  brought  to  understand  the  way  in  which  the  world  wa* 


JH.  VI.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  491 

moving,  and  would  move  in  spite  of  him.  Yet  he  thought 
to  establish  in  Eomauized  Europe  an  Oriental  patriarchal 
despotism,  and  he  thought  by  mere  brute  force  to  bring  over 
half  the  civilized  world  to  a  religious  system  which  it  had 
for  ever  discarded.  And  thus,  though  he  wielded  a  powei 
euch  as  no  man  for  centuries  had  wielded  before  him,  he 
achieved  absolutely  nothing.  At  the  end  of  his  evil  career, 
he  was  farther  from  each  of  his  cherished  aims  than  at  the 
beginning.  The  physical  power  of  Spain  was  exhausted  in 
the  vain  effort  to  stem  the  course  of  events,  and  all  the 
credit  the  son  of  Charles  V.  ever  earned  was  that  of  being 
one  of  the  most  mischievous  among  the  enemies  of  the 
human  race. 

Now,  our  practical  object  in  studying  human  progress 
scientifically  is  to  be  able  to  arrive  at  certain  definite  general 
principles  of  statesmanship.  In  every  branch  of  speculative 
or  practical  activity,  men  begin  by  reasoning  from  parti- 
culars to  particulars,  accomplishing  their  results  by  a  kind 
of  sagacious  instinct  which  hits  upon  the  means  requisite 
for  attaining  a  given  end.  But  after  a  while,  as  science  pro- 
gresses, they  establish  general  principles  of  action,  and  work 
with  a  distinct  consciousness  of  the  adaptation  of  the  means 
employed  to  the  end  proposed.  From  being  instinctive  and 
irregular,  their  proceedings  become  ratiocinative  and  sys- 
tematic ;  witness  the  whole  history  of  industrial  art.  And, 
as  that  history  shows,  the  more  intelligent  and  coherent  the 
course  of  proceeding,  the  less  is  the  time  and  effort  wasted 
in  vain  experiment.  It  is  just  the  same  in  politics.  We  need 
to  understand  the  conditions  essential  to  progress,  and  the 
direction  which  progress  is  taking,  that  we  may  avoid  the 
mischief  entailed  by  stupid  and  ignorant  legislation,  and 
secure  the  benefits  arising  from  legislation  that  is  scientifi- 
cally conceived  and  put  into  operation  with  a  distinct  con- 
Bciousness  of  the  ends  to  be  secured.  We  need  sociology 
that  we  may  not  waste  our  energies  and  damage  society  in 


192  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pt.  hi. 

opposing  the  very  reforms  which  a  little  science  might  iell 
us  that  the  community  requires  and  will  have,  sooner  or 
later,  in  spite  of  us,  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  a  knowledge 
of  the  laws  of  history  will  alone  suffice  to  make  us  states- 
men. Science  and  art  are  two  different  things,  and  so  are 
scientific  genius  and  practical  genius.  But  if  a  Themistokle8 
or  a  Hildebrand  were  to  arise  among  us,  he  would  be  all 
the  more  useful  for  working  in  conformity  to  scientific  prin- 
ciples, instead  of  trusting  solely  to  his  native  sagacity.  It 
is  when  genius  works  with  vision  that  it  achieves  its  utmost. 
And  when  we  cannot  have  genius,  by  all  means  let  us  have 
vision,  so  far  as  science  can  impart  it  to  us.  Daily  we  grow 
indignant  over  the  hand-to-mouth  policy  of  our  legislators, 
which  inflicts  so  much  needless  suffering,  and  makes  it  so 
much  harder  for  all  of  us  to  earn  our  bread.  But  we  must 
remember  that  such  a  policy  is  the  natural  outcome  of  a 
foolish  neglect  of  the  lessons  which  history  has  to  teach, 
and  which  may  be  read  by  anyone  who  holds  the  scientific 
clue  to  them. 

Such  is  our  practical  object,  and  our  sole  practical  object, 
in  studying  sociology  as  a  science.  To  attempt  to  construct 
an  ideal  polity,  by  adopting  which  society  is  to  remodel 
itself,  is  to  show  that  we  have  studied  that  science  to  little 
purpose.  For  if  history  can  teach  us  anything,  it  can  teach 
us  that  civilization  is  a  slow  growth,  of  which  no  one  can 
foresee,  save  in  its  most  general  features,  the  final  result ; 
far  less  force  that  result  prematurely  merely  by  appeals  to 
men's  judgment. 

How  utterly  Comte  ignored  all  this — the  plain  teaching 
ooth  of  historic  induction,  and  of  deduction  from  the  laws 
of  organic  life — can  be  appreciated  only  when  we  read  the 
insane  pages  in  which  he  attempts  to  predict  the  immediate 
future.  He  by  no  means  iutended  that  society  should  wait 
tUl  a  remote  era  for  the  entire  realization  of  his  project.  In 
leveii  years  the  control  of  public  education  in  France  was  tff 


BH.  VI.]  TRE  ATTITUDE  OF  PEILOSOFHT,  493 

be  given  to  Comte.  In  twelve  years  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
was  to  resign  in  favour  of  a  Comtist  triumvirate.  In  thirty- 
three  years  the  religion  of  Humanity  was  to  be  definitely  esta- 
blished. As  Mr.  Mill  says,  "  a  man  may  be  deemed  happy, 
but  scarcely  modest,  who  had  such  boundless  confidence  in 
his  own  powers  of  foresight,  and  expected  to  complete  a 
triumph  of  his  own  ideas  on  the  reconstitution  of  society 
within  the  possible  limits  of  his  life-time.  If  he  could  live 
(he  said)  to  the  age  of  Fontenelle,  or  of  Hobbes,  or  even 
of  Voltaire,  he  should  see  all  this  realized,  or  as  good  as 
realized." 

But  what  we  have  here  to  note  is  not  especially  the 
personal  conceit  of  the  project,  or  the  marks  of  insanity 
clearly  indicated  in  these  inordinate  expectations ;  what  we 
have  to  note  is  the  mode  of  genesis  of  this  wild  scheme. 
Extravagant  beyond  all  comparison  as  Comte's  proposals  for 
remodelling  religion  and  society  undoubtedly  were,  they  can 
nevertheless  be  easily  traced,  in  their  general  outlines,  back 
to  the  two  errors  which  I  have  above  signalized  as  the 
fundamental  errors  of  Positivism.  The  first  error — the 
ignoring  of  Deity — necessitated  a  complete  rupture  with 
Christian  forms  of  religion ;  and  the  second  error — the 
belief  that  society  can  be  reorganized  by  a  change  in 
formulas  of  belief — led  naturally  to  the  attempt  to  sub- 
stitute a  new  religion  for  Christianity  and  a  new  kind  of 
civilization  for  the  existing  civilization.  Thus  in  spite  of 
bis  keen  historic  appreciation  of  the  excellence  of  Chris- 
tianity, and  in  spite  of  his  sympathetic  critical  attitude, 
was  Comte  logically  forced  into  a  position  quite  as  unte- 
.lable  as  that  held  by  the  atheists  and  Jacobins.  And  now 
let  us  observe  how,  even  as  with  these  iconoclasts,  the 
eocial  state  which  Comte  expected  to  substitute  within 
forty  years  for  the  existing  social  state,  was  in  all  essential 
respects  a  retrogradation  toward  a  more  primitive  structure 
of  society.     The  positivist  Utopia  is  not  indeed  a  return  to 


194  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  tu 

pristine  savagery,  like  the  utopia  of  Eousseau  and  his  fol- 
lowers, but  it  is  a  reversion  toward  a  spiritual  despotism, 
such  as  was  realized  in  ancient  Egypt,  and  such  as  might 
perhaps  have  been  realized  in  mediaeval  Europe,  had  not  the 
policy  of  the  Emperors  opposed  a  salutary  check  to  the  policy 
of  the  Popes.  In  the  chapter  on  the  Evolution  of  Society,  we 
found  it  to  be  the  chief  characteristic  distinguishing  social 
progress  from  the  lower  orders  of  organic  evolution,  that 
individuals,  regarded  as  units  of  the  community,  are  con- 
tinually acquiring  greater  and  greater  freedom  of  action, 
consistently  with  the  stability  of  the  community.  Now 
Comte's  ideal  state  of  society  is  a  state  in  which  the  units 
of  the  community  possess  no  more  individual  freedom  than 
the  cells  which  make  up  the  tissues  of  a  vertebrate  animal. 
It  is  an  absolute  spiritual  despotism, — or  if  not  technically 
a  despotism,  we  may  at  least  say  of  it,  as  Mr.  Grote  says  of 
Plato's  imaginary  commonwealth,  that  it  is  a  state  in  which 
existence  would  be  intolerable  to  anyone  not  shaped  upon 
the  Comtean  model.  Public  opinion  is  to  be  controlled  by 
a  priestly  class  of  philosophers,  against  whose  authority  all 
revolt  would  be  as  useless  as  the  rebellion  of  a  mediaeval 
monarch  against  a  papal  interdict.  As  Mr.  Spencer  sums 
it  up :  the  Comtist  "  ideal  of  society  is  one  in  which 
government  is  developed  to  the  greatest  extent,  in  which 
3lass-functions  are  far  more  under  conscious  public  regula- 
tion than  now,  in  which  hierarchical  organization  with 
unquestioned  authority  shall  guide  everything — in  which 
the  individual  life  shall  be  subordinated  in  the  greatest 
degree  to  the  social  life."  Now  this  cannot  be  unless  the 
development  of  society  as  it  has  hitherto  proceeded  is  to 
be  diametrically  reversed.  As  our  whole  inquiry  into  the 
process  of  social  evolution  has  taught  us,  "the  form  of 
society  towards  which  we  are  progressing  is  one  in  which 
government  will  be  reduced  to  the  smallest  amount  possible 
and  freedom  increased  to  the  greatest  amount  possible ;  on« 


OH.  VI.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  495 

in  which  human  nature  will  have  become  so  moulded  by 
social  discipline  into  fitness  for  the  social  state,  that  it  will 
need  little  external  restraint,  but  will  be  self-restrained ; 
one  in  which  the  citizen  will  tolerate  no  interference  with 
his  freedom,  save  that  which  maintains  the  equal  freedom 
of  others ;  one  in  which  the  spontaneous  cooperation  which 
has  developed  our  industrial  system,  and  is  now  developing 
it  with  increased  rapidity,  will  produce  agencies  for  the  dis- 
charge of  nearly  all  social  functions,  and  will  leave  to  the 
primary  governmental  agency  nothing  beyond  the  function 
of  maintaining  those  conditions  to  free  action,  which  make 
such  spontaneous  cooperation  possible  ;  one  in  which 
individual  life  will  thus  be  pushed  to  the  greatest  extent 
consistent  with  social  life ;  and  in  which  social  life  will 
have  no  other  end  than  to  maintain  the  completest  sphere 
for  individual  life."  ^ 

If  the  scrutiny  of  these  contrasted  theorems  still  leaves 
us  in  any  doubt  as  to  the  retrograde  character  of  Comte's 
ideal  society,  a  single  practical  illustration  will  more  than 
suffice  to  convince  us.  We  have  seen  that  certain  Jacobins 
of  the  Commune  announced  their  intention  to  permit  scien- 
tific research  only  to  such  persons  as  might  succeed  in 
convincing  an  examining- committee  of  average  citizens  that 
their  researches  were  likely  to  be  of  direct  practical  value. 

need  not  say  that,  if  such  a  rule  could  be  enforced,  the 
intellectual  advancement  of  mankind  would  be  instantly 
wrested.  It  is  interesting  to  observe  that  Comte  enter- 
tained an  intention  not  wholly  dissimilar  to  this.  Disgusted 
with  the  insatiable  curiosity  which  leads  scientific  thinkers 
to  pry  into  the  secrets  of  nature  in  all  directions  at  once, 
Dften  spending  years  upon  subjects  which  to  self-complacent 
ignorance  or  Philistinism  seem  entirely  trivial,  Comte 
enacted  that  "  some  one  problem  should  always  be  selected, 
Ihe  solution  of  which  would  be  more  important  than  apy 
*  Spencer,  Recent  Discussicns,  p.  128. 


496  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [p».  in. 

other  to  the  interests  of  humanity,  and  upon  this  the  entire 
intellectual  resources  of  the  theoretic  mind  should  be  con- 
(,entrated,  until  it  is  either  resolved,  or  has  to  be  given  up  as 
insoluble ;  after  which  mankind  should  go  on  to  another,  to 
be  pursued  with  similar  exclusiveness."  ^  It  only  re  maim 
to  add  that  this  all-important  problem  was  to  be  prescribed 
by  the  High  Priest  of  Humanity.  When  now,  knowing  as 
we  do  Comte's  intense  aversion  to  certain  kinds  of  inquiry, 
we  consider  what  would  have  been  the  result  could  such 
a  system  have  gone  into  operation  forty  years  ago ;  when  we 
reflect  that  Bessel  would  never  have  been  allowed  to  measure 
the  parallax  of  a  star,  that  the  cell-doctrine  in  biology  would 
have  been  hopelessly  doomed,  that  Mr.  Darwin's  researches 
would  have  been  prohibited  as  useless,  that  the  correlation 
of  forces  would  have  still  remained  undiscovered,  that  psy- 
chology would  have  been  ruled  out  once  for  all,  that  the  new 
chemistry  would  not  have  come  into  existence,  and  that 
spectrum  analysis  would  never  have  been  heard  of;  when 
we  reflect  upon  all  this,  we  may  well  thank  God  for  the 
constitution  of  things  which  makes  it  impossible  that  the 
well-being  of  the  human  race  should  ever  be  irrevocably 
staked  upon  the  wisdom  or  folly  of  a  single  speculative 
thinker. 

So  far  as  our  present  purpose  is  concerned,  it  would  be 
time  worse  than  wasted  to  present  in  further  detail  Comte's 
purely  whimsical  and  arbitrary  proposals  for  the  remodelling 
of  society.  As  questions  of  philosophy  they  possess  neither 
interest  nor  value :  they  are  interesting  solely  as  throwing 
light  upon  the  morbid  psychology  of  a  powerful  mind,  fertile 
in  suggestions,  but  hopelessly  deficient  in  humour.  Whr»ever 
wishes  to  learn  their  character  can  do  so  at  the  expense  of 
^yadinff  through  one  of  the  most  dismal  books  in  all  literature 
— the  CaUchisme  Positiviste.  Enough  has  been  said  to  esta- 
blish the  fact  that  in  breaking  with  the  past  and  seeking  ta 
*  Mill,  Augtiste  Comie  arid  Fositivisnif  p.  16ii 


m.  Yi.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY,  497 

remodel  religion  and  society  artificially,  Comte  yielded  to 
the  inevitable  necessity  which  compels  the  would-be  recon- 
structor  of  society  to  remodel  it  ideally  npon  a  lower  type 
than  that  which  actually  exists.  He  would  have  given  us  a 
religion  without  God  and  a  society  without  freedom  of  action. 

If  we  liow  pause  for  a  moment,  and  gather  up  tlie  different 
threads  of  the  argument,  we  shall  assist  the  comprehension 
of  our  own  position,  presently  to  be  stated.  Let  us,  then, 
contemplate  in  a  single  view  the  conclusions  deducible  from 
the  foregoing  series  of  criticisms. 

We  have  seen  the  old  statical  habit  of  thought,  as  repre- 
sented in  the  Doctrine  of  Creation,  manifesting  itself  in 
rigid  orthodoxy,  both  in  religion  and  in  politics.  We  have 
observed  the  way  in  which  modern  scientific  inquiry,  detect- 
ing numberless  absurdities  or  anomalies  in  the  religious  and 
political  orthodoxy  inherited  from  mediaeval  times,  yet 
retaining  and  carrying  into  its  criticisms  the  statical  habit 
of  thought,  has  assumed  an  iconoclastic  attitude  with  refer- 
ence to  the  existing  order  of  things.  We  have  traced  this 
iconoclastic  attitude  in  the  modern  history  of  Atlieism  and 
Jacobinism,  and  have  noted  how  its  tendency  is  in  the 
direction  of  social  dissolution.  We  have  found  that  the 
only  possible  result  of  a  sudden  and  violent  alteration  of  the 
existing  order  of  things  must  be  a  retrogradation  toward  some 
lower  order  of  things,  characteristic  of  some  less  advanced 
type  of  civilization.  And  of  this  fatal  necessity  we  have 
Leen  the  most  instructive  example  in  the  career  of  the 
Positive  Philosophy.  Though  it  had  partially  compassed, 
in  an  empirical  fashion,  the  notion  of  development ;  though 
it  was  fully  alive  to  the  barrenness  of  iconoclastic  methods; 
though  it  began  by  regarding  itself  as  the  normal  product 
of  a  long  course  of  speculative  evolution  ; — nevertheless 
when,  by  its  ignoring  of  Deity,  Positivism  found  itself  arrayed 
"Ui  sheer  opposition  to  established  and  time-honoured  theories, 
the  resulting  retrogradation  was  hardly  less  marked  than  it 

VOL.  IL  K  K 


498  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY,  [pT-  iii. 

had  been  in  the  case  of  atheistic  Jacobinism.  And  when 
the  notion  (born  of  tlie  statical  habit  of  thought),  that  men's 
natural  ways  of  thinking  and  acting  can  be  suddenly  changed 
by  a  change  in  philosophic  formulas,  was  called  to  its  aid, 
the  result  was  that  absurdest  though  most  logically  con- 
structed of  all  Utopias,  the  Positive  Polity. 

In  view  of  these  profoundly  interesting  and  instructive 
conclusions,  can  we  not,  by  sheer  contrast,  immediately 
discern  what  must  be  the  critical  attitude  of  any  philosophy 
which  is  based  upon  the  thorough  and  consistent  recognition 
of  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution  ?  We  too,  as  well  as  the  Posi- 
tivists,  have  our  ideal  state  of  society, — a  state  well  described 
in  the  passage  above  quoted  from  Mr,  Spencer,  in  which  the 
jsreatest  possible  fulness  of  life  shall  be  ensured  to  each 
member  of  the  community  by  the  circumstance  that  in  the 
long  course  of  social  equilibration  the  desires  of  each  indi- 
vidual shall  have  become  slowly  moulded  into  harmony  with 
the  coexistent  desires  of  neighbouring  individuals.  But  as 
cataclysms  and  miracles  and  sudden  creations  have  no  place 
in  our  purely  dynamical  theory  of  things,  we  do  not  expect 
to  see  this  ultimate  state  of  society  realized  within  half  a 
century.  We  know  full  well  that  it  can  be  realized  only  in 
the  indefinitely  remote  future.  Nay,  since  the  conception 
of  absolute  finality  is  as  inconsistent  with  the  Doctrine  of 
Evolution  as  is  the  conception  of  absolute  beginning,  we  do 
not  regard  it  as  destined  ever  to  be  absolutely  realized.  That 
supreme  epoch  of  social  equilibrium  in  which  every  man 
shall  love  the  Lord  with  all  his  heart  and  his  neighbour  even 
as  himself,  in  which  the  beast  shall  have  been  worked  out, 
ani,  in  Tennyson's  phrase,  the  ape  and  the  tiger  shall  have 
been  allowed  to  die  within  us,  in  which  egoistic  or  anti- 
social impulses  shall  be  self-restrained,  and  everyone  shall 
Bponlaneously  do  that  which  tends  towards  the  general  hap- 
piness,—this  supreme  epoch  is  likely  for  ever  to  remain  an 
ideal  epoch  which  shall  relatively  be  more  and  more  dis- 


OH.  VI.]  TEi:  ATTITUDE  OF  PEILOSOPBT.  49& 

fcinctly  realized  witlioiit  ever  being  realized  absolutely,  just 
as  the  hyperbola  for  ever  approaches  its  asymptote  without 
coming  in  contact  with  it.  There  will  always  be  room  left 
for  that  aspiration  after  a  yet  higher  fulness  of  life,  after  a 
"  closer  walk  with  God,"  which,  whether  it  be  expressed  by 
the  symbols  of  science  or  by  the  symbols  of  mythology,  ia 
the  indestructible  essence  of  all  religion.  An  absolutely 
perfect  state  of  society  would  be,  by  a  curious  and  instruc- 
tive paradox,  a  state  in  which  the  religious  sense  would 
have  no  further  function  to  subserve,  because  goodness 
would  have  become  automatic  and  aspiration  would  be  at 
an  end. 

But  while  our  ideal  state  of  society  is  one  which  can  only 
be  gradually,  relatively,  and  approximatively  realized,  it  has 
none  the  less  a  present  existence  as  an  ideal  which  we  must 
ever  strive  to  incarnate  as  far  as  possible  in  the  concrete 
facts  which  make  up  the  sum  of  our  every-day  life.  There  is 
a  practical  sense  in  which  the  evolutionist,  no  less  than  tho 
radical  sceptic  or  the  orthodox  believer,  must  recognize  that 
he  has  a  missionary  function  to  fulfil.  We  do  indeed  aim, 
in  conformity  with  surrounding  conditions,  at  the  realization 
of  our  social  and  ethical  ideal, — seeking  to  do  what  within 
as  lies  to  hasten  the  time  when  it  may  be  proclaimed,  with 
fresh  significance,  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand. 
But  how  shall  we  seek  to  effect  our  purpose  ?  Shall  we  go 
forth  to  all  the  world  and  preach  some  "  gospel  of  Evolu- 
tion," in  the  hope  that  men,  seeing  the  error  of  their  ways, 
shall  suddenly  embrace  the  new  faith  and  be  henceforth 
spiritually  healed  ?  In  two  ways  our  philosophy  has  taught 
us  the  absurdity  of  such  a  proceeding.  First,  such  doctrines 
are  too  subtle,  too  spiritual  indeed,  to  be  apprehended  other- 
wise than  by  a  slow  process  of  growth,  intellectual  and 
moral.  Accordingly,  since  men's  theologies  are  narrowly 
implicated  with  their  prnciples  of  action,  the  taking  away 
of  their  theology  by  any  other  process  than  that  of  slowlj 

£  E  2 


500  COSMIC  PHILOSOPny.  [PT.IH 

supplanting  it  by  a  new  system  of  conceptions  equally 
adapted  to  furnish  general  principles  of  action,  would  be  to 
leave  men  trivial-minded  and  irreligious,  with  no  rational 
motive  but  self-interest,  no  clearly-conceived  end  save  the 
pleasure  of  the  moment.  The  evolutionist,  therefore,  be- 
lieving that  faith  in  some  controlling  ideal  is  essential  to 
right  living,  and  that  even  an  unscientific  faith  is  infinitely 
better  than  aimless  scepticism,  does  not  go  about  pointing 
out  to  the  orthodox  the  inconsistencies  which  he  discerns  in 
their  system  of  beliefs.  And  while  assured  that  the  dean- 
thropomorphizing  process  will  continue  to  go  on  as  it  has 
gone  on  since  the  dawn  of  history,  under  the  slow  but  un- 
ceasing stimulus  of  scientific  generalization,  he  at  the  same 
time  rejoices  that  a  violent  destruction  of  anthropomorphic 
conceptions  is  impossible.  Refraining,  therefore,  from  barren 
theologic  controversy,  his  aim  is  to  carry  scientific  methods 
and  scientific  interpretations  into  all  departments  of  inquiry, 
in  accordance  with  the  profound  aphorism  of  Dr.  Newman  : 
"  False  ideas  may  be  refuted  by  argument,  but  only  by  true 
ideas  can  they  be  expelled."  Have  we  not  seen  that  our 
beliefs  are  in  a  measure  wrought  into  the  very  substance 
of  our  brains,  so  that  the  process  of  eradicating  them  must 
be  a  process  of  substitution  which,  as  involving  structural 
changes,  must  needs  be  gradual  ? 

But  secondly,  the  evolutionist  must  recognize  that,  even 
were  it  possible  to  effect  a  sudden  conversion  of  mankind  to 
a  faith  based  upon  scientific  knowledge,  such  a  conversion 
would  not  bring  about  the  desired  result  of  inaugurating  a 
higher  and  better  state  of  society.  Not  by  a  change  of 
opinion,  but  by  a  change  of  heart,  is  the  grand  desideratum 
to  be  obtained.  It  is  not  by  accepting  all  the  theorems 
comprised  in  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution,  or  in  any  other 
doctrine  whatever,  that  men  are  to  obey  the  dictates  of 
selfishness  less  and  the  dictates  of  sympathy  more.  Yet 
th48  is  the  transfer  of  allegiance  upon  which,  as  we  hava 


en.  VI,]  TEE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  501 

elsewhere  sliown,  the  amelioration  of  society  and  the  relief 
of  man's  estate  depend. 

And  these  considerations  as  to  the  critical  attitude  of  the 
evolutionist  with  reference  to  theology  will  equally  apply  to 
his  critical  attitude  with  reference  to  politics,  conceniing 
which  I  need,  therefore,  add  but  few  explanatory  woids. 
Since  it  is  the  plain  teaching  of  history  that  the  group  of 
institutions  making  up  the  framework  of  society  at  any 
given  period  cannot  be  violently  altered  without  entailing 
a  partial  disintegration  of  society;  since  any  custom  or 
observance  can  be  safely  discontinued  only  when  the  com- 
munity has  grown  to  the  perception  of  its  uselessness  or 
absurdity ;  and,  above  all,  since  the  integrity  of  society 
depends  in  an  ultimate  analysis,  not  upon  its  institutions 
(which  may  be  as  liberal  in  Mexico  as  in  Massachusetts), 
but  upon  the  integrity  of  its  individual  members  ;  it  follows 
that  the  evolutionist  will  look  askance  at  the  panaceas  of 
radical  world-menders,  refusing  to  believe  that  the  mil- 
lennium can  be  coaxed  or  cheated  into  existence  until  men 
have  learned,  one  and  all,  each  for  himself,  to  live  rightly. 
The  only  Utopian  ideal  which  he  can  consistently  cherish, 
is  that  of  contributing  his  individual  share  of  effort  to  the 
improvement  of  mankind  by  leading  an  upright  life,  and 
applying  the  principles  of  common -sense  and  of  the  highest 
ethics  within  his  ken  to  whatever  political  and  social 
questions  may  directly  concern  him  as  member  of  a  pro- 
gressive community. 

When,  therefore,  we  are  asked  how  we  shall  seek  to  incar- 
nate m  fact  our  ethical  and  social  ideal,  the  reply  is  :  we 
must  seek  to  realize  this  ideal,  in  so  far  as  our  frail  half- 
developed  natures  will  allow,  by  leading  pure  and  upright 
lives,  repressing  the  selfish  impulses  which  are  our  legacy 
from  the  brute,  obeying  the  dictates  of  sympathy  wliereby 
we  are  chiefly  distinguished  as  human,  and  conforming  aa 
well  as  vse  may  to  the  highest  ethical  code  within  our  ken. 


60i  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  hi. 

As  the  coral  reef  is  built  by  millions  of  tiny  polyps,  each 
giving  up  his  little  life  to  the  process,  until  a  stately  island 
arises  in  mid-ocean,  so  the  ideal  society  of  the  future,  wich 
its  exemption  from  the  ills  which  we  now  suffer,  will  be  the 
result  of  myriads  of  individual  efforts  towards  greater  com- 
pleteness of  life.  Every  temptation  that  is  resisted,  every 
sympathetic  impulse  that  is  discreetly  yielded  to,  every 
noble  aspiration  that  is  encouraged,  every  sinful  thought 
that  is  repressed,  every  bitter  word  that  is  withheld,  add5 
its  little  item  to  the  impetus  of  the  great  movement  which 
is  bearing  Humanity  onwards  toward  a  richer  life  and  a 
higher  character.  Out  of  individual  rectitude  comes  the 
rectitude  and  happiness  of  the  community ;  so  that  the  ulti- 
mate salvation  of  mankind  is  to  be  wrought  out  solely  by 
obedience  to  that  religious  instinct  which,  as  shown  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  urges  the  individual,  irrespective  of 
utilitarian  considerations,  to  live  in  conformity  to  nature's 
requirements.  "Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee,"  is  the  prayer, 
dictated  by  the  religious  faith  of  past  ages,  to  which  the 
deepest  scientific  analysis  of  the  future  may  add  new 
meanings,  but  of  which  it  can  never  impair  the  primary 
significance. 

Thus  Math  regard  to  its  practical  bearings  upon  human 
conduct,  the  religious  attitude  of  our  scientific  philosophy 
seems  to  be  absolutely  identical  with  the  religious  attitude 
of  Christianity.  "We  arrive  at  a  deeper  reason  than  has 
hitherto  been  disclosed  for  the  difference  between  our  posi- 
tion with  reference  to  Christianity,  and  that  which  has  been 
assumed  by  Radicalism  and  by  Positivism,  It  is  not  merely 
that  we  refuse  to  attack  Christianity  because  we  recognize 
its  necessary  adaptation  to  a  certain  stage  of  culture,  not  yet 
passed  by  the  average  minds  of  the  community ;  it  is  that 
we  stiU  regard  Christianity  as,  in  the  deepest  sense,  our  own 
religion.  Or,  if  a  somewhat  different  form  of  statement  be 
preferred,  we  regard  it  as  a  faith  which,  precisely  in  the  act 


fB.  VT.l  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  FHILOSOPHT.  603 

of  realising  more  and  more  fully  its  own  ideal,  becomes  more 
and  more  fully  identified  with  the  faith  which  we  are  con- 
scious of  cherishing.  Instead  of  the  intolerant  hostility  of 
the  Infidel,  or  the  indifferent  neutrality  of  the  Positivist,  we 
offer  cordial  aid  and  sympathy.  I  cannot  better  illustrate 
the  twofold  source  of  this  sympathy  than  by  citing  the  words 
of  a  lady  who  is  fairly  entitled  to  rank  as  one  of  the  most 
original  and  suggestive  thinkers  of  our  time.  Speaking  of 
the  lower  of  the  two  lines  of  thought  which  determine  the 
critical  attitude  of  the  evolutionist,  Miss  Hennell  says : — 
"  When  we  see  the  various  modes  of  error  in  belief,  no  longer 
in  the  light  of  heresies  that  we  have  the  right  to  punish,  or 
even  to  despise,  but  only  as  the  incomplete  condition  that 
must  of  necessity  belong  to  that  which  has  to  ripen  out  of 
the  lower  state  into  the  higher ;  and  when  we  bethink  our- 
selves that  it  is  the  matter  of  our  own  most  cherished 
aspiration  that  our  own  condition,  as  presently  occupied,  has 
to  appear  in  the  very  same  light  to  the  station  to  be  attained 
hereafter ;  charity  towards  the  imperfection  is  so  inevitable 
that  indeed  it  no  longer  requires  to  be  insisted  on  as  if  it 
required  inculcation.  Our  sphere  of  religious  sympathy  has 
been  so  much  enlarged  beyond  its  former  bounds,  that  the 
original  matter  of  duty  has  become  matter  of  simple  unques- 
tioning feeling. "  Now  this  admirably  illustrates  what  I  have 
called  the  lower  of  the  two  lines  of  thought  which  determine 
our  position  :  it  explains  our  refusal  to  attack  Christianity. 
The  following  deeply-meditated  passage  illustrates  the  higher 
line  of  thought,  and  shows  why  we  identify  our  position  with 
that  which  is  held  by  Christianity.  "  Very  slight  ground  of 
self-gratulation  should  I  have  found,"  says  JNliss  HenneU, 
"  in  even  the  most  palpable  superiority  of  present  faith  that 
might  have  been  gained,  if  the  acquisition  had  really  been 
made,  as  at  first  it  appeared  to  me  to  be  made,  and  as  it  must 
Btill  appear  to  orthodox  believers  to  be  made,  at  the  expense 
of  the  absolute  subversal  and  denial  of  the  faith  that  had 


504  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  f^T.  ni. 

gone  before  it.  Tf  I  could  not  now  perceive  that  what  was 
once  true  to  me,  and  true  to  the  world,  was  true  for  ever,  in 
relation  to  what  had  to  come  after  it,  I  do  not  deny  to  myself 
•■hat  I  should  inevitably  fall  away  to  cease  believing  at  all 
henceforth  both  in  myself  and  in  the  world.  Yes :  if  I  could 
not  see  in  relation  to  Christianity,  just  as  truly  as  was  seen 
by  the  master-spirits  of  that  religion  in  relation  to  Judaism, 
that  neither  of  this  later  form  of  realization  'can  one  jot 
or  tittle  pass  away,  until  all  be  fulfilled'  in  the  newly- 
arriving  doctrines  of  General  Eeligion, — never,  I  am  con- 
vinced, could  the  latter  take  any  real  hold  upon  me :  never, 
in  fact,  could  it  he  a  religion  to  me."  ^ 

To  those  who  still  adhere  to  the  sharp  distinctions  charac- 
teristic of  the  statical  view  of  things,  who  carry  into  their 
estimate  of  religious  opinions  the  conception  of  fixity  of 
species,  it  may  seem  absurd  or  sophistical  in  us  to  assimilate 
with  Christianity  a  system  of  thought  which  has  entirely 
thrown  off  the  mythologic  symbols  wherein  Christianity  has 
hitherto  been  clothed  and  whereby  it  is  customarily  recog- 
nized as  possessing  an  individuality  of  its  own.  To  such  it 
naturally  seems  that  the  giving  up  of  the  symbol  is  the 
giving  up  of  the  reality,  and  that  the  critical  attitude  of  him 
who  has  given  up  the  symbol  must  be  an  attitude  of  radical 
hostility.  But  now,  as  the  crowning  result  of  the  whole 
argument,  we  are  enabled  to  show  how  the  dynamical  view 
of  things  disposes  of  this  paradox.  He  who  brings  to  his 
estimate  of  religious  opinions  a  Darwinian  habit  of  mind, 
must  understand  that  a  sudden  and  radical  alteration  of 
Christianity  into  something  else  is  as  impossible  as  the 
sudden  and  radical  change  of  one  type  of  organism  into 
another.  He  will  see  that,  while  form  after  form  has 
perished,  the  Life  remains,  incarnated  in  newer  and  highei 
forms.  That  which  is  fundamental  in  Christianity  is  not 
the  mythologic  superstratum,  but  the  underlying  spiritua 
*  Miss  Hennell,  Present  Eeligion,  pp.  50,  51. 


CH.  VI.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  605 

principle.  The  mythologic  symbols  have  changed  from  age 
to  age.  The  constant  element  has  been,  on  its  intellectual 
side  the  recognition  of  Deity,  and  on  its  emotional  side  the 
yearning  for  closer  union  with  Deity,  or  for  a  more  complete 
spiritual  life.  And  the  three  foregoing  chapters  have  con- 
clusively proved  that  this  constant  element,  in  both  its 
aspects,  remains  unchanged  in  that  religion  whose  symbols 
are  shaped  by  science. 

In  using  the  phrase  "  Cosmic  Theism,"  therefore,  to  denote 
the  religious  phase  of  the  philosophy  based  upon  the  Doc- 
trine of  Evolution,  I  do  not  use  it  as  descriptive  of  a  new 
form  of  religion  before  which  Christianity  is  gradually  to 
disappear.  I  use  it  as  descriptive  of  that  less-anthropo- 
morphic phase  of  religious  theory  into  which  the  present 
more-anthropomorphic  phase  is  likely  to  be  slowly  meta- 
morphosed. The  conflict,  as  it  presents  itself  to  my  mind, 
is  not  between  Christianity  and  any  other  embodiment  of 
religion  or  irreligion.  The  conflict  is  between  science  and 
mythology,  between  Cosmism  and  Anthropomorphism.  The 
result  is,  not  the  destruction  of  religion,  but  the  substitution 
of  a  relatively  adequate  for  a  relatively  inadequate  set  of 
symbols.  In  the  scientific  philosopher  there  may  be  as 
much  of  the  real  essence  of  Christianity  as  there  was  in 
the  cloistered  monk  who  preceded  him ;  but  he  thinks  in  the 
language  of  a  man  and  not  in  the  language  of  a  child. 

The  critical  attitude  of  our  philosophy  with  reference  to 
the  beliefs  and  the  institutions  amid  which  we.  live,  has  now 
been  quite  thoroughly  defined  both  by  what  it  is  and  by 
what  it  is  not.  "We  may  now,  I  think,  safely  affirm  that 
when  Mr.  Mivart  accuses  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution  of 
tending  toward  the  intellectual  and  moral  degradation  of 
mankind  and  toward  the  genesis  of  atrocities  worse  than 
those  of  the  Parisian  Commune,  he  clearly  shows  that  he 
has  not  thoroughly  comprehended  the  implications  of  the 
doctrine.     The  conception   of   evolution,  which  he   adopts 


606  COSMIC  PHILOSOPHY.  [pt.  hi. 

after  a  loose  and  inconsistent  fashion  in  so  far  as  Lis  own 
special  studies  have  constrained  him  to  adopt  it,  remain' 
nevertheless  in  his  mind  a  barren  conception.  He  quit» 
fails  to  grasp  the  dynamical  view  of  things,  and  therefor* 
naturally  regards  the  overthrow  of  Eoman  Catholic  theology 
as  equivalent  to  the  inauguration  of  atheism  and  of  anarchy. 
We  have  seen,  on  the  other  hand,  that  all  the  iconoclastic 
attacks  which  have  been  directed  either  against  Christianity 
or  against  the  existing  order  of  society  have  been  theoretically 
based  upon  fallacies  which  are  incompatible  with  the  Doctrine 
of  Evolution.  It  has  been  shown  that,  upon  our  general 
theory  of  life,  we  can  look,  for  the  realization  of  our  highest 
social  ideal,  only  to  the  perfecting  of  individual  character 
under  the  conditions  at  any  time  existing.  And  for  the 
perfecting  of  individual  character  we  must  rely  upon  that 
increasing  sense  of  divine  omnipresence  and  that  increas- 
ing aspiration  after  completeness  of  spiritual  life,  which, 
taken  together,  constitute  the  permanent  element  in  Chris- 
tianity. When  we  add  that  our  ethical  code,  deduced 
theoretically  from  the  conception  of  Life  set  forth  at  such 
length  in  the  second  part  of  this  work,  is  at  bottom  identical 
with  the  ethical  code  sanctioned  by  the  highest  Christianity, 
it  at  last  becomes  apparent  how  truly  conservative,  in  the 
best  sense  of  the  word,  is  the  critical  attitude  of  our 
philosophy. 

The  iconoclast,  who  has  the  welfare  of  mankind  nearest 
his  heart,  will  indeed  probably  blame  us  as  too  conservative, 
—as  lacking  in  robust  and  wholesome  aggressiveness.  And 
he  will  perhaps  find  fault  with  us  for  respecting  prejudices 
which  he  thinks  ought  to  be  shocked.  Our  reply  must  be. 
that  it  is  not  by  wounding  prejudices  that  the  cause  of 
truth  is  most  efficiently  served.  Men  do  not  give  up  their 
false  or  inadequate  beliefs  by  hearing  them  scoffed  at  oi 
harshly  criticized  :  they  give  them  up  only  when  they  have 


CH.VI.]  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  607 

been  taught  truths  with  which  the  false  or  inadequate  beliefs 
lire  incompatible.  The  object  of  the  scientific  philosopher 
therefore,  will  be  to  organize  science  and  extend  the  boun- 
daries of  knowledge. 

If  he  obtains  a  fresh  morsel  of  truth,  he  will  proclaim  it 
to  the  world  without  dread  of  consequences,  and  let  it  bide  it? 
time  until  society  comes,  of  its  own  free-will  and  intelligence, 
to  accept  it.  But  while  feeling  it  unnecessary,  and  often 
unadvisable,  to  urge  his  views  upon  others,  no  craven  fear  of 
obloquy  will  prevail  upon  him  to  conceal  them  when  it  is 
desirable  that  they  should  be  stated.  He  will  state  them 
without  mental  reservation,  and,  above  all,  without  fear  of 
any  possible  harm  that  can  come  from  the  unhampered  quest 
of  truth.  There  is  nothing  more  reprehensible  than  the 
secret  dread  of  ugly  consequences  with  which  so  many 
writers  approach  all  questions  of  vital  importance.  They 
shrink  from  lifting  the  veil  which  envelopes  the  Isis-statue 
of  Truth,  lest  instead  of  a  beaming  countenance  they  may 
perchance  encounter  a  ghastly  death's  head(.  But  philosophy 
should  harbour  neither  fears  nor  repugnances,  nor  qualms  of 
conscience.  It  is  not  for  us,  creatures  of  a  day  that  we  are, 
and  seeing  but  a  little  way  into  a  limited  portion  of  nature, 
to  say  dictatorially,  before  patient  examination,  that  we  will 
tot  have  this  or  that  doctrine  as  part  of  our  philosophic 
treed.  We  must  feel  our  way  as  best  we  can,  gather  with 
unremitting  toil  what  facts  lie  within  our  reach,  and  grate- 
fully accept  such  conclusions  as  can  honestly  and  by  due 
process  of  inference  and  verification  be  obtained  for  our 
guidance.  We  are  not  the  autocrats,  but  the  servants  and  in- 
terpreters of  Nature ;  and  we  must  interpret  her  as  she  is, — 
not  as  we  would  like  her  to  be.  That  harmony  which  we 
hope  eventually  to  see  established  between  our  knowledge 
nnd  our  aspirations  is  not  to  be  realized  by  the  timidity 
which  shrinks  from  logically  following  out  either  of  two 
upparently  conflicting  lines  of  thought — as  in  the  question 


608  COSMIC  PEILOSOPHT.  [pt.  ra. 

of  matter  and  spirit — hvA  by  the  fearlessness  which  pushes 
each  to  its  inevitable  conclusioa  Only  when  this  is  recog- 
nized will  the  long  and  mistaken  warfare  between  Science 
and  Eeligion  be  exchanged  for  an  intelligent  and  enduring 
alliance.  Only  then  will  the  two  knights  of  the  fable  finally 
throw  down  their  weapons,  on  discovering  that  the  causes 
for  which  they  have  so  long  been  waging  battle  are  in  reality 
one  and  the  same  eternal  cause, — ^the  cause  of  truth,  of 
goodness,  and  of  beauty';  **  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  leUef 
af  man's  estate  " 


INDEX 


INDEX. 


ABSOLtTE,  the,  I.  9, 14  ;  ii.  412. 

Absoluta  Existence,  what  is  meant  \j  it, 

i.  87—91. 
Absolute  truth,  uo  criterion  of,  i.  11,  70. 
Abstract   and   concrete   sciences   distin- 
guished by  Comte,  i.  189,  214. 
Abstract  sciences  cannot  furnish  a  pri- 
mordial principle  on  which  to  build  a 

philosophy,  i.  268. 
Abstract-concrete  sciences,  i.  215,  218, 

269. 
Abstractness  not  the  same  as  generality, 

i.  214. 
Actinism  as  a  mode  of  motion,  i.  292. 
Adam,  WilUam,  ii.  193,  386. 
Adaptation,  direct,  ii.  56. 
Adjustment,  ii.  64. 
Adoption,  legal  fiction  of,  ii.  216. 
Agassiz,  Louis,  i.  449  ;  ii.  382. 
Agreement,  method  of,  i.  241. 
Alcohol  retards  waste,  i.  334. 
Alexander's  campaigns,   their  civilizing 

influence,  ii.  215. 
Altruism  and  egoism,  ii.  202,  207. 
Amphioxus  and  ascidian,  i.  450. 
Analytical  truths  cannot  make  up  a  body 

of  philosophy,  i.  314. 
Ancestors,  worship  of,  ii.  349. 
ft,ncient  societies  simulating  societies  of 

modem  type,  ii.  248. 
Animals,  how  classified,  i.  448  j  dependent 

on  solar  radiation,  i.  410. 
Anstie  on  Stimulants  and  Narcotics,  i.  197. 
Antelopes  as  illustrating  use  and  disuse, 

ii.  17. 
Anthropomorphism  contrasted  with  Cos- 

mism,  i.  182  ;  can  never  be  wholly  got 

rid  of,  i.  183  ;  ii.  449. 
Anticipation  of  future  contingenciea,  IL 

92,  247,  303. 


Antipodes,  how  far  inconceiTable  by  the 

ancients,  i.  64. 
Antiquity  of  man,  immense  significance 

of,  ii.  320. 
Apes,  brain  of,  ii.  133. 
Arabian  conquests,   their    civilizing  in- 

fluence,  ii.  215. 
Archseus,  theory  of,  i.  197,  419. 
Archebiosis,  i.  243,  425  ;  difficulty  of  the 

question,  i.  427. 
Archimedes,  i.  201,  209,  253. 
Argyll,  Duke  of,  i.  20 ;  ii.  264,  317. 
Aristseus  and  his  bees,  i.  418. 
Aristotle,  i.  126,  224. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  ii.  452,  463. 
Ai-ticulata,  origin  of  the  type,  i.  345. 
Aryan  languages,  i.  443. 
Aryan  race,  i.  448. 
Ascidian  and  amphioxus,  i.  450. 
Association  of  ideas,  ii.  139,  147. 
Asteroids,  origin  of,  i.  369  ;  their  planes 

of  revolution  not  yet  accounted  for,  i. 

372. 
Astrogeny,  i.  220. 
Astronomy,  a  deductive  science,  i.  118  ; 

when  constituted  as  a  science,  i.  197, 

199,  201  ;  scope  of,  i.  202,  220  ;  a  con- 

Crete  science,  i.  214 ;  observation  in, 

i.  243. 
Atheism,  i.   7  ;   ludicrously  treated  by 

Comte,  i.  262. 
Athens,  its  importance  in  history,  ii.  202. 
Atoms,  constitution  of,  i.  4. 
Attitude  of  philosophy,  i.  259  ;  ii.  473. 
Attraction  and  repulsion,  i.  5,  290. 
Australians  have  no  words  for   justice 

etc.,  ii.  289. 
Automatic  nervous  action,  ii.  164. 
Autonomism,  ii.  205. 
Axioms,  L  63. 


613 


INDEX, 


Bacon,  F.,  Ms  services  in  founding 
modern  philosopliy,  i.  112  ;  his  con- 
demnation of  the  subjective  method, 
i.  114  ;  his  rejection  of  the  Copernicaa 
astronomy,  1.  2;i2. 

Bagehot,  VV ,  ii.  259,  267,  280,  310. 

Bain,  A.,  on  liberty  of  choice,  ii.  179. 

Barbaric  languages,  absence  of  general 
terms  in,  ii.  308. 

Barratt,  A.,  on  final  causes,  ii.  397,  402. 

Bastian,  H.  C,  i.  129,  425. 

Bathybius,  i.  426. 

Beale  on  Cancers,  i.  343. 

Belief,  double  sense  of  the  word,  i  61. 

Berkeley,  i.  74,  117. 

Bernard,  Claude,  i.  244. 

Berzelius,  overthrow  of  his  dualistio 
theory,  i.  225. 

Besscl  measures  parallax  of  61  Cygni,  L 
249. 

Bichat,  i.  199. 

Biogeny,  i.  221. 

Biology,  i.  37,  41,  113 ;  when  constituted 
as  a  science,  i.  199  ;  a  concrete  science, 
i.  213  ;  scope  of,  i.  221  ;  difficulty  of 
experimentation  in,  i.  243  ;  pre-emi- 
nently the  science  of  classification,  L 
244. 

Birds,  carinate  and  struthious,  ii.  51. 

BlainviUe's  attempts  at  linear  classifica- 
tion, i.  449. 

"BUnd  force"  and  "intelligent  per- 
sonality," ii.  429. 

Borda's  pendulum  experiment,  i,  237. 

Botany  as  related  to  biology,  i.  212. 

Boyle  and  Mariotte,  their  law  of  pres- 
sures and  densities,  i.  206. 

Bradley's  discovery  of  abeiration,  i.  204. 

Brain  increases  in  heterogeneity  with 
mental  labour,  ii.  140. 

Brain-action,  new  theory  of,  ii.  141. 

Brewster's  optical  discoveries,  i.  206. 

Bridges,  J.  H.,  i.  252,  259  ;  ii.  243, 

Broussais,  ii.  74. 

Brown,  Thomas,  i.  53. 

Bruno,  Giordano,  ii.  375. 

Buckle,  H.  T.,  his  lack  of  the  historic 
sense,  i.  165  ;  on  Mohammedan  civiliza- 
tion, ii.  200 ;  his  philosophy  of  history, 
ii.  229. 

Buchner,  L.,  i.  123  ;  ii.  435. 

Buttertiies  and  theii'  colours,  ii.  25 ;  ta 
Celebes  and  Java,  iL  56. 


Cancers,  i.  198,  343. 

Carbon,  its  function  as  a  constituent  o/ 

organic  matter,  i.  311. 
Carioate  birds,  ii.  51. 


Cartesian  test  of  truth,  i.  99,  108;  dco« 
trine  of  causal  resemblance,  ii.  386 

Celts  and  humble-bees,  i.  303. 

Cats'  whiskers,  ii.  90. 

Oausation,  universality  of.  i.  53;  sour«5«» 
of  our  belief  in,  i.  146  ;  Hamilton'i 
theory  of,  i.  148  ;  Hume's  theory  of,  i, 
127,  155 ;  hypothesis  of  occulta  vis,  i. 
154  ;  does  not  imply  constraint,  i,  183 ; 
volitional  theory  of,  i.  158 ;  ii.  39i) ; 
Ferrier's  view  of,  ii.  183. 

Cause,  efficient  and  phenomenal,  i.  154. 

Causes  and  efiects,  resemblance  of,  ii.  386 

Cavendish's  torsion-balance  experiment, 
i.  205. 

Celibacy  of  clergy,  ii.  222. 

Cell-doctrine  repudiated  by  Comto,  L 
247,  251. 

Cephahc  ganglia,  their  increasing  im- 
portance, ii.  87. 

Cerebral  differences  between  civilized 
man  and  savage,  ii.  316. 

Cei-ebrum  and  cerebellum,  size  of  in  dif- 
ferent animals,  ii.  133 ;  functions  of, 
ii.  137. 

Chalons,  battle  of,  ii.  262. 

Chambers,  G.,  his  obituary  notice  of  the 
nebular  hypothesis,  i.  386. 

Chance  and  law,  ii.  171. 

Chemical  heterogeneity  of  the  earth's 
surface,  how  brought  about,  i.  431. 

Chemism,  cohesion,  and  gravity,  i.  291. 

Chemistry,  i.  34  ;  its  relations  to  mine 
ralogy,  i.  189,  212;  wherein  diflerent 
from  physics,  i.  192,  203  ;  when  consti- 
tuted as  ascience,  i.  199 ;  revolutionized 
by  Dumas,  Laurent,  etc.,  i.  225. 

Chinese,  their  small  foresight,  ii.  305 ; 
primitive  structure  of  their  society, 
ii.  248. 

Christianity,  genesis  of,  ii.  169,  206, 218  ; 
its  political  effects,  ii.  278. 

Christians  foiTnerly  called  atheists,  ii. 
469. 

Cicada  and  rattlesnake,  ii.  29. 

Circulatory  system,  stages  of  its  evolu- 
tion, ii.  145. 

Citizenship  in  Greece  and  Rome,  ii.  221» 

Civic  communities,  ii.  117. 

Civilization  a  process  of  adaptation,  ii, 
202,  212. 

Clan-societies,  their  characteristics,  ti 
204. 

Classification  as  dependent  on  heveditiirj 
kinship,  i.  448. 

Classifying  and  reasoning,  ii.  106. 

Climates,  interdependence  of,  i.  404. 

Clover  and  humble-bees,  i   308. 

Codhsh,  theii'  rate  of  increase,  ii.  IL 


INDEX, 


513 


Coexistence  and  nou-coexistence,  li.  118. 

Coexteusion  and  non-cocxtensiou,  ii.  118. 

Cognition  involves  recognition,  i.  12  ;  ii. 
120  ;  discrimination,  i.  14 ;  how  it 
arises,  ii.  121. 

Coherence  as  resulting  from  integration, 
i.  337. 

Cohesion,  gravity,  and  chemism,  i.  291. 

Cointensioii  and  non-cointension,  ii.  118. 

Colours  of  plants  and  animals,  ii.  20. 

I!omet?  and  nebulae,  i.  389. 

3omets  "  forming  their  own  future,"  iL 
180. 

Commune  of  Paris,  ii.  483. 

i!Ionimunity  and  environment,  ii.  197  ;  its 
growth  in  size  and  complexity,  ii.  204; 
more  than  an  organism,  ii.  226. 

'Ivomparative  method  as  connected  with 
dynamical  habits  of  thought,  iL  477. 

Comparison,  i.  241. 

Compressibility  of  matter,  i.  3. 

^i'omte,  Auguste,  his  weakness  as  a  psy- 
chologist, i.  82,  163,  249  ;  ii.  73  ;  com- 
pared with  Plato,  i.  103, 139  ;  abandons 
the  objective  method,  i.  131 ;  empire 
of  dead  over  living,  i.  135  ;  ii.  199  ;  his 
habit  of  abstaining  from  reading,  i. 
137 ;  his  Subjective  Synthesis,  i.  140  ; 
question  as  to  his  insanity,  i.  l41 ;  not 
the  founder  of  scientific  philosophy,  i. 
162  ;  his  keen  historic  sense,  i.  165  ; 
compared  with  Cuvior,  i.  166 ;  his 
"  Law  of  the  Three  Stages,"  i.  168  ;  ii. 
238,  245,  468  ;  his  inconsistent  state- 
ments, i.  170;  compared  with  Coper- 
nicus, i  185  ;  his  classification  of  the 
sciences,  i.   189 — 215  ;   his   wrong  ar- 

-  rangement  of  the  parts  of  sociology, 
i.  194  ;  his  rejection  of  psychology,  i. 
194  ;  ii.  73  :  his  erroneous  view  of  che- 
mistry, i.  225  ;  his  small  esteem  for 
syllogistic  logic,  i.  235 ;  his  contribu- 
tions to  the  logic  of  induction,  and  his 
conception   of    Philosophy  as  an   Or- 

Efinon,  i.  240  ;  merged  Philosophy  iu 
ogic,  i.  246  ;  repudiated  cell-doctrine, 
i.  247 ;  condemned  all  inquiries  into 
the  origin  of  man,  i.  248 ;  denied  the 
possilility  of  a  science  of  stellar  astro- 
nomy, i.  248 ;  wherein  different  from 
St.  Simon  and  Fourier,  i.  260 ;  identi- 
fied philosophy  with  sociology,  i.  260  ; 
how  he  reached  the  Religion  of 
Hunvinity,  i.  261 ;  his  ludicrous  treat- 
ment of  atheism,  i.  262 ;  his  remark 
ftbout,  the  meaning  of  "Physics,"  i. 
879 ;  his  acceptance  of  phrenology,  ii, 
74 ;  his  claim  to  be  regarded  as  the 
founder  of  sociology,  iL  232,  253 ;  his 
VOL.  IL 


law  of  social  progress,  0.  240  ;  hiB  re- 
mark that  the  heavens  declare  the 
glory  of  Hipparchos  and  Newton,  ii. 
415  ;  his  Religion  of  Humanity,  _  iL 
417  ;  his  advance  towards  a  dynamical 
view  of  things,  ii.  486 ;  his  belief  that 
society  can  be  reorganized  by  phLlo- 
Bophy,  ii.  488  ;  his  extravagant  ex- 
pectations, ii.  493  ;  his  intention  of  re  • 
stricting  scientific  research,  ii.  496. 

Concealment,  its  uses  in  the  animal 
world,  ii.  21. 

Concomitant  variations,  i.  237,  244. 

Concrete  relations  interpreted  soonei 
than  abstract  relations,  i.  210. 

Concrete  sciences,  how  distinguished  by 
Comte,  L  189  ;  cannot  furnish  a  pri- 
mordial theorem  upon  which  to  found 
a  philosophy,  i.  268. 

Condillac,  L  118. 

Condorcet,  i.  253  ;  ii.  253. 

Counature  and  non-connature,  ii.  118. 

Conscience,  beginnings  of,  ii.  348. 

Consciousness,  how  far  known,  i.  16  ;  its 
direct  warrant  for  the  existence  of  its 
states,  i.  64 ;  dependent  on  cerebral 
changes,  i.  413 ;  ii.  149  ;  involves  an 
orderly  succession  of  changes,  ii.  119  , 
how  evolved  from  automatic  mental 
action,  ii.  154  ;  does  not  assert  that 
volitions  are  uncaused,  ii.  182. 

Conspicuous  phenomena  generalized 
sooner  than  those  that  are  inconspi- 
cuous, i.  209. 

Contingent  Truths  defined  by  Mr.  Lewes 
L  58. 

Continuity  between  inorganic  and  or- 
ganic phenomena,  i.  435  ;  among  psy- 
chical phenomena,  ii.  132. 

Contract  and  status,  ii.  221. 

Convolutions  in  the  brain,  sti-ucture  of, 

ii.  ^■^~>. 

Cooling  of  the  solar  system,  i.  357. 

Cooperation  as  masking  the  effects  of 
natural  selection,  ii.  258. 

Copernican  revolution  and  final  oauies,  i. 
261. 

Corporate  responsibility  in  ancient  com- 
munities, ii.  2Gii. 

Corpuscular  theory  of  light,  i.  130. 

Correlation  of  forces,  i.  40,  290 ;  aflfordi 
no  support  for  materialism,  ii.  440. 

Correlation  of  growth,  ii.  16. 

Correspondence  extending  in  time  and 
space,  i.  35 ;  ii.  89,  299 ;  in  speciaUty, 
ii.  93  ;  in  complexity,  i.  36 ;  ii.  94, 
309  ;  in  definiteness,  ii.  307  :  in  gen& 
rality,  i.  36 ;  ii.  308 ;  in  integration,  i 
37. 

L  L 


514 


INDEX. 


Corti,  fibres  of,  ii.  61. 

Cosmisra,  i.  39,  44,  95,  182,  263,  276 ;  iL 
425,  605. 

Coulomb's  discovery  of  the  laws  of  elec- 
tric equilibrium,  i.  203. 

Cousin,  v.,  his  notions  of  method,  i.  118. 

Creation,  doctrine  of,  opposed  to  the 
doctrine  of  evolution,  ii.  377,  474. 

Crusades,  their  civilizing  influence,  iL 
215. 

Crystallization,  i.  242. 

Custom,  despotic  yoke  of,  in  early  times, 
ii.  265. 

Cuvier,  i.  166,  244 :  his  classification,  i. 
449. 

Cyclical  recurrence,  strictly  speaking,  re- 
quires infinite  time,  i.  313. 


DaitmaraS,  their  inability  to  count,  ii. 

288. 

Darwin,  Charles,  i.  308,  462;  his  dis- 
covery of  natural  selection,  ii.  4 ;  his 
hypothesis  of  pangenesis,  ii.  45  ;  does 
not  allege  ubiquitous  progress,  ii.  257  ; 
his  suggestion  as  to  the  origin  of  gre- 
gariousness,  ii.  341  ;  his  theory  of  the 
beginnings  of  conscience,  ii.  348. 

"Darwinism"  rejected  by  Comtista,  i. 
248. 

Day,  lengthening  of,  i.  393. 

Deanthropomorphization,  i.  176  ;  not  a 
fundamental  but  a  derivative  fact,  ii. 
246. 

Death  from  old  age,  ii.  7J. 

Deity,  how  far  unknowable,  ii.  413,  470  ; 
how  far  to  be  regarded  as  quasi-psy- 
chical, ii.  446 — 451. 

Demokritos,  his  guess  that  all  the  senses 
ai-e  modifications  of  touch,  ii.  90. 

")emonstration,  what  it  consists  in,  i.  62. 

J)erivation  hypothesis,  i.  442. 

Descartes,  his  test  of  truth,  i.  99  ;  his 
conception  of  philosophy  less  sound 
than  Bacon's,  i.  115;  his  hypothesis  of 
vortices,  i.  127 ;  his  view  of  final 
causes,  ii.  384. 

Design,  arg  'ment  from,  ii.  381. 

Desire,  how  it  passes  into  voUtion,  ii.  177. 

Devil-worship,  ii.  458. 

Didelphia,  ii.  50. 

Difference  tnd  No-difference,  i.  89. 

Differentiation  defined,  i.  3.3(3 

Dilemma  of  matter  and  motion,  how 
practically  resolved,  i.  271,  273. 

Dinosaurus  and  birds,  ii.  51. 

Distribution  of  organisms,  i.  460, 

Dogs,  races  of,  ii.  9. 


Dynamic  paradox  in  the  process  of  «?o» 

lution,  i.  331,  398  ;  ii.  283. 
Dynamical  and  statical  habits  of  thought, 

ii.  371,  473. 
Dvsteleology,  or  imperfect  adjusitment, 

'iL  403. 


Ear-piano,  ii.  61. 

Early  society,  dilemma  of,  ii.  270. 

Earth,  its  primitive  heat,  i.  357  ;  why  U 
has  attained  so  great  structural  hetero- 
geneity, i.  398  ;  changes  of  its  surface, 
ii.  13 ;  its  age  cannot  be  estimated 
with  our  present  resources,  ii.  48. 

Echoes,  fetishistic  interpretation  of,  L 
197. 

Effort,  sense  of,  i.  156. 

Ego-altruistic  feelings,  ii.  352. 

Egoism  and  altruism,  ii.  201,  207. 

Electricity  a  mode  of  motion,  i.  292. 

Elevation  and  subsidence,  ii.  39. 

Embryologic  illustrations  of  the  law  ol 
evolution,  i.  338  ;  evidence  in  favour  of 
derivation,  i.  454. 

Embryos  of  dog,  man,  and  bird,  i.  454. 

Emerson,  R.  W.,  on  the  colours  of  ani- 
mals, ii.  23. 

Emotion,  rise  of,  ii.  155. 

Emotional  states,  order  of  their  group- 
ing, iL  117. 

Emotions  and  centrally-initiated  sensa- 
tions,  ii.  116. 

Empiricism,  i.  62. 

Encyclop^distes,  their  anarchical  doc- 
trines, ii.  478. 

Environment,  social,  ii.  197 ;  hetero- 
geneity of,  ii.  213. 

Epicurean  doctrine  of  pleasures,  ii.  329. 

Equality  and  likeness,  ii.  103. 

Equilibration,  ii.  64. 

Equinoxes,  precession  of,  i.  303. 

Error  equivalent  to  wrong  classifying,  L 
32. 

Ether,  i.  6, 

Ethical  sanctions  recognized  by  scionoe, 
ii.  455. 

Etymologies  of  Aryan  words,  i.  446, 

Eurojiean  civilization  in  early  times,  ii. 
271  ;  not  autochthonous,  ii.  275  ;  causes 
of  its  progressiveness,  ii.  277. 

Evolution,  law  of,  its  univer.sality,  i.  274 ; 
primary  and  secondary  redistributions, 
i.  329 ;  conditions  essential  to,  i.  329  i 
why  manifested  chiefly  in  organic 
bodies,  i.  331  ;  illustrated  in  functioD 
as  well  as  in  structure,  i.  349  ;  passagt 
from  lower  to  higher  orders  of.  ii.  292  , 
discovery  of,  an  extension  of  ecmy 


INDEX, 


61fi 


8ponf]ence  in  wme,  ft  370 ;  also  a  vast 

integration  of  oorrespondeuces,  ii.  373. 
Experience,  how  far  it  can  tell  us  of  the 

future,  i.  49,  53. 
Experience  -  philosophy         inadequately 

stated    by  the    English    school    from 

Hobbes  to  Mill,  i.  287  ;  ii.  ItiO. 
Experiential  origin  of  necessary  truths,  L 

56. 
Eyes  of  vertebrates  and  mollusks,  iL  63, 

59. 

FAtLiNG  bodies,  law  of,  i.  108. 
Family-groups,  importance  of  their  first 

establishment,  ii.  295. 

Fatalism,  ii.  185. 

Fseling,  sensation  and  emotion,  ii.  117. 

Ferrier,  Prof.,  i.  75.  79 ;  ii.  173,  283. 

Fetishism,  origin  of,  i.  157  ;  defined,  i. 
168 ;  psychological  interpretation  of, 
i.  179  ;  how  outgrown,  i.  ISO. 

Feudal  institutions,  wherein  diflferent 
from  institutions  of  primijtive  races,  ii. 
222. 

Fevers,  i.  198. 

Fichte,  J.  G.,  i.  48,  52,  76. 

"Fictions,"  legal,  their  civilizing  ftmc- 
tion,  ii.  279  ;  scientific  and  legal,  i.  273. 

Final  causes,  logical  aspect  of  the  doc- 
trine, ii.  3S3. 

First  Cause,  i.  7. 

Fishes,  brain  of,  ii.  133. 

Flowers  and  insects,  ii.  28. 

Fly-catcher,  ii.  149. 

Force,  persistence  of,  L  40,  283  ;  ii.  414. 

Forces,  correlation  of,  i.  40,  290 ;  affords 
no  support  for  materialism,  iL  440. 

Foresight,  ii.  92,  247,  3u3. 

Fossilization  a  rare  occurrence,  ii.  38. 

Fourier,  J.,  his  law  of  conduction,  i.  206. 

France  as  illustrating  national  aggrega- 
tion, ii.  217. 

Frankland  on  the  eflfects  of  the  moon's 
cooling,  i.  382. 

Free-will,  the  popular  argument  for,  iL 

173  ;  not  really  a  difficult  problem,  ii. 

174  ;   tricks  of  language  upon  which 
the  absurd  paradox  is  founded,  ii.  188. 

Freeman,  E.  A.,  ii.  217,  235. 

Frequent  phenomena  generalized  sooner 

than  those  that  are  infrequent,  i.  210. 
Fresnel,  L  130. 
Froude,  J.  A.,  Oj  the  science  of  history, 

iL166. 

3ALILE0,  i.  84,  107,  109,  201,  204 ;  his 
law  that  the  relative  motions  of  parts 
are  not  altered  by  the  motion  of  the 
whole,  i.  295. 


Gallon,  P.,  ii.  288. 

Galvanism,  i.  206. 

Gaudry's  discoveries  of  "transitional 
forms  "  near  Athens,  ii.  41. 

Gemeinde,  ii.  216. 

General  terms,  lack  of,  in  barbarous  lan- 
guages, ii.  308. 

Generation,  spontaneous, — the  quesfticn 
really  at  issue,  i.  426. 

Genesis,  sciences  of,  i.  222, 

Gens  and  7?'"?,  ii.  216. 

Geogeny,  scope  of,  i.  220. 

Geologic  rhythms,  enormous  complexity 
of,  i.  304. 

Germ-theory,  i.  420. 

German  language  never  purged  of  its 
realistic  implications,  i.  123. 

Glacial  epoch,  date  of,  i.  304  ;  ii.  295. 

God,  how  far  unknowable,  i.  15 ;  iL  412, 
470. 

Goethe's  discoveries  in  morphology,  L 
113  ;  his  anecdote  about  the  founding 
of  St.  Petersburg,  i.  121  ;  his  interest 
in  the  controversy  between  Cuvier  and 
Geoffroy  Saint-Hilaire,  ii.  3  ;  his  views 
concerning  the  quasi-humanity  of  God, 
ii.  409. 

Gravity,  cohesion,  and  chemism,  i.  291, 

Greek  philosophy,  i.  23,  43. 

Gregariousness,  origin  of,  ii.  341. 

Grimm,  J.,  his  demonstration  of  the 
fetishistic  origin  of  myths,  i.  177. 

Grove,  W.  R.,  i.  40,  203",  293. 

Gustatory  sensations,  how  compounded, 
iL128. 


Habit,  dynamical  explanation  of,  iL  144. 

Haeckel,  E.,  i.  450  ;  ii.  26,  397. 

Hall,  Sir  James,  produces  artificial 
marble,  i.  242. 

Hamilton,  Sir  W.,  i.  78 ;  his  theory  of 
causation,  i.  148  ;  his  theory  of  the  in- 
verse variation  of  perception  and  sensa- 
tion, ii.  114  ;  his  theory  of  pleasure  and 
pain,  ii.  327. 

Hannibal,  wny  powerless  against  Rome, 
ii.  ^262. 

Harmonic  tones,  ii.  125. 

Hartley,  i.  117. 

Harvey's  discovery  of  the  circulation  of 
the  blood,  i.  113. 

Hegel,  i.  24,  43,  48,  52,  67,  77,  92.  99, 
104  ;  his  theory  of  the  identity  of  con- 
tradictories, i.  119  ;  why  he  is  so  hard 
to  understand,  i.  120  ;  his  contempt  foi 
verification,  i.  121  ;  his  preference  foi 
the  Ptolemaic  astronomy,  i.  122 ;  de« 
L  L   2 


516 


INDEX. 


nies  the  kinship  between  philosopliy 
and  common-seuse,  i.  124. 
Heineccius,  his  definition  of  status,  iL221. 
Heliconias,  ii.  26. 
Hellenic   political  system,   cause  of  its 

premature  overthrow,  ii.  218. 
Helvetius,  i.  118. 
Hennell,  Sara,  ii.  503. 
Herakleitos,  his  belief  that  the  universe 

is  in  a  ceaseless  flux,  i.  312. 
Heredity  as  an  element  ia  the  organiza- 
tion of  experiences,  ii.  149. 
Heresy,  its  social  value,  ii.  272. 
Herschel,  Sir  W.,  his  theory  of  the  con- 
stitution of  nebulae,  i.  386. 
Heterogeneity  defined,  i.  336. 
Heterogeneity   of   society    as   checking 

warfare,  ii.  251. 
Hipparchos,  i.  199. 
Hipparion  and  its  kindred,  L  452. 
Hippokrates,  i.  224. 
Hobbes,  i.  117,  121,  211 ;  his  conception 

of  society  as  a  Leviathan,  iL  226. 
Holbach,  i.  118. 
Homesickness,  ii.  328.  _ 
Homogeneity  defined,  i.  336. 
Homogeneous,  instability  of,  i.  353. 
Horse,  pedigree  of,  ii.  242. 
Hugigrins,    W.,    determmes   the    proper 
motion  of  Sinus,  i.  207  ;  demonstrates 
the  gaseous  condition  of   ii'resolvable 
nebulae,  i.  386.1 
Humanity,  leligion  of,  ii.  417. 
Humble-bees  and  red  clover,  L  308. 
Hume,  i.  47,  86,  118,  127, 155. 
Hunter,  W.  W.,  on  reUgion  of  Santals, 

ii.  458. 
Button,  R.  H.,  his  misinterpretation  of 

Mr.  Spencer,  ii.  339. 
Huxley,  T.  H.,  i.  129,  164,  166, 175,  185, 
227,  232,  247,  262  ;  his  classification  of 
animals,  i.  450  ;  his  remark  about  final 
causes,  ii.  384. 
Huyghens,  his  theory  of  light,  i.  130. 
Hybrids,  infertility  of,  ii.  44. 
Hydra,  its  ability  to    distinguish  light 

from  darkness,  ii.  90. 
Hygienic  fallacies,  i.  150. 
Hypothesis,  its  requisites,  L 137,  266. 

CcHTHTOSAUBTANS  and  whales,  ii.  58. 
Iconoclasm  as  illustrating  statical  habit 

of  thought,  ii.  476. 
Ideal  types  of  manhood  in  ancient  and 

modern  times,  ii.  207. 
Idealifeni,  i.  45,  74^90._ 
Ideas  and  sensations,  ii.  Til* 
Ideational  centres,  IL  137* 


Identity  of  contradictories,  how  far  tnUk 

i.  119. 
Janes  fatui,  fetishistic  interpretation  of, 

i.  197. 
Ignorance  consists  in  failure  to  classify, 

L  31. 
Immobile  civilizations,  explanation  of,  ii. 

276. 
Inconceivable,  ambiguity  of  the  word,  i. 
61  ;   difference  between  inconceivable 
and  incredible,  i.  62. 
Inconceivability-test,  what  is  meant  by 

it,  i.  69  ;  ii.  162'. 
Increase  of  plants  and  animals,  high  rate 

of,  ii.  11. 
Individuals,  their  influence  in  history,  ii. 

237. 
Individuation,  ii.  95,  223. 
Induction,    its    weakness  illustrated  by 

Newton's  discoveries,  i.  266. 
Infancy,  origin  of,  ii.  159,  342 ;  how  the 
prolongation  of  it  gave  rise  to  society, 
n.  344,  360,  369. 
Infants,  crying  of,  i.  104. 
Infinite,  the,  i.  7,  13. 
Inflexibility  of  mind  in  lower  races,  iL  313. 
Innate  ideas,  i.  46,  101,  115  ;  ii.  161. 
Inorganic  physics,  how  divided  by  Comte, 

i.  192. 
Insects,  origin  of,  i.  345;  their  relatiora 

with  flowers,  ii.  28. 
Instability  of  the  homogeneous,  i.  353. 
Instinct,  inheritance  of,  ii.  150  ;  how  dis- 
tinguished from  reflex  action,  ii.  152 ; 
how  it  merges  into  reason,  ii.  154. 
Integration  defined,  i.  336  ;  degree  of,  an 
important  test  in  classification,  i.  347. 
Intuitional  knowledge,  ii.  161. 
Isolation,  its  effects  upon  social  develop- 
ment, ii.  276. 
Isomeric  transformations  in  nerre-fibres, 
iil36. 


Jacobinism,  origin  of,  iL  476 ;  tendency 
toward  social  dissolution,  ii.  482. 

Jaws,  diminution  of,  ii.  320. 

Jesuit  missionaries  in  Paraguay,  iL  304. 

Joule's  discovery  of  the  mechanical  equi- 
valent of  heat,  L  34,  203. 

Julian,  ii.  490. 

Jupiter,  his  pfiysical  condition,  i.  377. 

Juristic  writers  of  the  seventeenth  oeif 
tury,  ii.  280. 


Kant,  i.  24;  asserted  the  relativity  a 
knowledge,  i.  48  ;  his  inconsistency,  L 
62,  118 ;  reconciliation  cf   his  pbii» 


INDEX. 


517 


Bophy  with  that  of  Loclce  and  Hume, 
ii.  l(ji),  326,  356  ;  his  remark  about  the 
moral  sense,  ii.  324. 

Kepler,  L  107  ;  his  belief  that  the  pla- 
netary motions  were  controlled  by  arch- 
angels, i.  110,  197. 

KirchhofiTs  discovery  of  spectrum-ana- 
lysis, i.  207. 

Knowing  is  classifying,  i.  11,  27 ;  ii.  106, 
297. 

Kowalewsky's  discovery  of  the  relation- 
ship between  the  ascidiaus  and  the 
amphioxus,  L  450. 


Lagrange's  principle  of  virtual  velo- 
cities, i.  36,  40. 

Lalaude's  inability  to  discover  God  with 
a  telescope,  ii.  422. 

Lamarck's  attempts  at  linear  classifica- 
tion, i.  449 ;  his  theory  of  adaptive 
changes,  ii.  6. 

Lansfuages,  classification  of,  i.  443. 

Lankester,  E.  R. ,  ii.  95. 

Laplace's  discovery  of  the  heat  disengaged 
by  sound,  i.  206  ;  his  remark  about 
Newton,  L  826 ;  about  final  causes,  iL 
383. 

Lavoisier,  i.  34,  199. 

Law,  universaUty  of,  i.  288. 

Law  and  Lawgiver,  ii.  392. 

"  Legal  "  stage  of  progress,  ii.  240. 

Leibnitz,  i.  24,  46;  his  theory  of  Pre- 
established  Harmony,  L  129,  J 58. 

Lessing,  i.  166. 

Lewes,  G.  H.,  i.  18,  48,  50,  52,  58,  68, 
125,  128,  141,  257,  456;  ii.  76,  241, 
415. 

Liegnitz,  battle  of,  ii.  263. 

life,  genesis  of,  i.  430  ;  definition  of,  ii. 
67 ;  identical  with  ability  to  maintain 
life,  ii.  95. 

Light,  its  relation  to  other  modes  of 
motion,  i.  19,  292. 

Likeness  and  equality,  ii.  103 ;  and  un- 
likeness,  iL  119. 

Lion,  antelope,  and  bufialo,  ii.  18. 

Uttr^,  E. ,  his  defence  of  Comte's  ori- 
ginality, L  228,  231  ;  rejects  Mr. 
Spencer's  doctrine  of  the  Unknowable, 
i.  82,  169,  262 ;  his  suggestion  as  to 
Comte's  insanity,  L  141 ;  on  Free-will, 
ii.  179  ;  on  the  function  of  Tradition  in 
sociology,  ii.  234. 

Locality,  sense  of,  ii.  300. 

Locke,  i.  46,  78  ;  strength  and  wealcness 
of  his  position,  ii.  161. 

Logio,  its  relations  to   mathematics,  L 


215,  219  ;  "why  omitted  from  Comte'i 

list  of  sciences,  i.  234. 
Lombard,  J.,  his   experiments  on   heat 

evolved  by  the  cerebrum,  i.  415. 
Lowe,  liobert,  his  opinion  of  the  battle  ol 

Marathon,  ii.  260. 
Loyalty,  its  function  in  early  times,  ii 

266.  _ 
Lucretius  and  spontaneous  generation,  L 

418. 
Lyell.  Sir  C.,  on  increasing  heterogeneity 

of  environment,  ii.  213. 

Machinery,  ancient  and  modem,  iL  207r 

Magendie,  i.  244. 

Magnetism  a  mode  of  motion,  i.  292. 

Maine,  Sir  H.,  on  the  early  constitution 
of  society,  ii.  2o9,  220  ;  on  conservatism 
in  India,  ii.  280. 

Maistre.  J.  de,  his  retrograde  doctrines, 
ii.  480. 

Mafa  prokibtia  and  mala  in  se,  iL  282, 
357. 

Malebranche,  i.  24,  158. 

Mammals,  embryology  of,  i.  340 ;  cross- 
relations  among,  ii.  50. 

Mammoths  in  Siberia,  i.  321. 

Man,  how  affected  by  natui  al  selection, 
ii.  258  ;  genesis  of,  summary  of  the 
argument,  ii.  358  ;  all-important  con- 
trast, ii.  294 ;  why  he  differs  so  much 
from  the  apes  in  intelligence  and  so 
little  in  structure,  ii.  319  ;  why  he  can 
never  be  supplanted  by  a  higher  race, 
ii.  321. 

Manichjeism,  ii.  405. 

Mansel,  H.  L.,  i.  9,  14,  25. 

Marathon,  battle  of,  iL  261. 

Marriage  in  primitive  times,  ii.  345. 

Mars,  his  physical  condition,  i.  383. 

Marsupials  and  placental  mamm^,  ii. 
50  59 

Martineau,  J.,  his  theory  of  a  "datum 
objective  to  God,"  ii.  405,  425. 

Materialism  utterly  indefensible,  ii.  79; 
ambiguous  sense  of  the  term,  ii.  433 ; 
rejected  by  objective  psychology,  ii. 
437  ;  and  by  molecular  physics,  ii.  439. 

Mathematics,  i.  193,  200,  215,  219. 

Matter,  composition  of,  i.  3  ;  how  far 
known,  i.  16  ;  how  cognized,  i.  282 : 
indestructibility  of,  i.  65,  280  ;  primary 
qualities  of,  i.  78  ;  action  of  matter 
on  matter  unthinkable,  i.  5, 155 ;  r.ction 
of  mind  on  matter,  or  of  matter  on 
mind  unthinkable,  i.  158  ;  ii,  446. 

Maudsley  on  the  will,  iL  175. 

Means  of  investigation  more  nmaeroui 


518 


INDEX, 


in  the  more  complex  sciencM,  i.  210, 
243. 

Mediseval  philosophy,  i.  24. 

Meldrum,  C,  on  the  relation  between 
sun-spots  and  rainfall,  i.  406. 

Memory,  changes  in,  ii.  148  ;  rise  of,  ii. 
155. 

Mental  phenomena  not  identifiable  with 
material  phenomena,  i.  352,  412. 

Metamorphosis  of  energy,  its  wondrous 
signifioance,  i.  416. 

Metaphysics  defined  and  criticized,  L  26, 
95,  105,  126,  143,  176. 

Meteorologic  differentiations  of  earth's 
surlace,  i.  403. 

Meteorolooy,  i.  34, 190,  220. 

Meteors,  iT  11,  391. 

Method  of  constructing  a  theory  of  the 
universe,  i.  265. 

Mice  and  hnmble-bees,  i.  308. 

Michelet,  J. ,  on  the  function  of  pain,  ii. 
462. 

MUitary  activity  diminished  with  pro- 
gress of  civilization,  ii.  247. 

Military  life  as  nourishing  the  altruistic 
feelings,  ii.  205. 

MOitary  strength  segregated  into  the 
most  highly  civilized  communities,  ii. 
259. 

Mill,  James,  i.  117,  221 ;  ii.  82. 

Mill,  J.  S.,  attacks  Mr.  Spencer's  test  of 
truth,  i.  61 ;  unwittingly  contravenes 
the  experience-theory,  i.  67  ;  ii.  162 ; 
his  criticism  of  Comte's  rejection  of  the 
objective  method,  i.  135  ;  of  Hamilton's 
view  of  causation,  i.  148  ;  h"s  own  view 
of  causation,  i.  150—154  ;  refutes  the 
voUtional  theory,  i.  159  —161  ;  his  illus- 
tration of  the  method  of  concomitant 
variations,  i.  238  ;  his  obligations  to 
Comte,  i.  240  ;  his  remarks  on  bi- 
ology, i.  245  ;  his  definition  of  Philo- 
sophy, i.  246  ;  his  opinion  that  the  law 
of  causation  is  an  induction  per  enume- 
rationem  simplicem,!.  286  ;  his  remark 
about  uniformity  of  law,  i.  289  ;  his 
estimate  of  the  nebular  hypothesis,  i. 
364 ;  his  suggestion  that  strongly 
marked  individuality  tends  to  dis- 
appear in  modern  times,  ii.  267  ;  his 
criticism  of  the  Cartesian  doctrine  of 
causal  resemblance,  ii.  387  ;  his  remark 
about  God's  goodness,  ii.  407  ;  his  view 
of  the  Religion  of  Humanity,  ii. 
417. 

Mind  not  like  a  blank  sheet,  i.  46 ;  ii. 
151 ;  can  never  be  resolved  into  mo- 
tions of  matter,  ii.  442  ;  law  of  its  com- 
position, iL  119 ;  ^init  o^  ii.  181 ;  quan* 


tity  of,  correlated  \?ifc  quantity  of 
brain,  ii.  133. 

Mineralogy,  i.  189,  220,  225. 

Miracles,  ii.  379. 

Missionary  enterprises,  why  so  vften 
futile,  ii.  142. 

Mivart,  St.  George,  his  theory  that 
Nature  makes  jumps,  ii.  33  ;  his  objec- 
tions to  the  Darwinian  theory,  ii.  50, 
286 ;  misinterprets  Mr.  Spencer,  ii. 
339  ;  his  view  of  the  practical  conse- 
quences of  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution, 
ii.  475,  506. 

Modem  communities  overworked,  ii.  335. 

Modification  of  phenomena  implies  a  cer 
tain  amount  of  prevision,  ii.  170. 

Moleschott  on  thought  and  phosphorus,  ii 
435. 

Monodelphia,  ii.  50. 

Monotheism,  i.  168. 

Moon,  its  physical  condition,  i.  878 ;  a 
type  of  the  penultimate  condition  of 
all  the  planets,  i.  392;  speculations  as 
to  life  upon  it,  i.  400  ;  process  by  which 
its  distance  is  determined,  ii.  99. 

Moral  aspects  of  primitive  society,  ii, 
346. 

Moral  government  of  the  world,  ii.  407. 

Morality  and  religion,  their  associatioii 
not  ai'bitrary,  ii.  453 ;  distinction  be- 
tween, ii.  465. 

Morphological  testimony  in  favour  o* 
derivation,  i.  459. 

Moths  and  lighted  candles,  ii.  332. 

Motion,  transmission  of,  i.  6 ;  how  far 
known,  i.  16 ;  continuity  of,  i.  280 ; 
how  cognized,  i.  282  ;  modes  of,  L  290  ; 
direction  of,  i.  293  ;  ii.  142 ;  first  law 
of,  i.  294 ;  how  far  to  be  regai'ded  an 
eternal,  ii.  391. 

MultipUcation  of  effects,  i.  354. 

' '  Musical  residua  "  in  old  vioHns,  ii.  143. 

Musical  sounds,  constitution  of,  ii.  123. 

ilythology,  its  kinship  with  metaphysics, 
i.  105,143,  178;  ii.  349. 

"  Myths  and  Myth-makers,"  L  106,  178, 
196;  ii.  349. 


Nakcosis  does  not  vary  uniformly  9» 
cording  to  dose,  i.  238, 

Nationalities,  doctrine  of,  ii.  269. 

Natural  laws  and  divine  action,  iL  425. 

"Natural  reason"  in  jurisprudence,  il 
281, 

Natural  selection,  ii.  3 ;  not  limited  to 
slight  changes,  ii.  19  ;  logical  character 
of  the  theory,  ii.  46  ;  wherein  modined 
by  social  conditions,  ii.  258, 334 ;  polBt 


INDEX. 


619 


•t  irLicb  its  action  cTianges,  ii.  295 ; 
overthrows  the  argument  from  design, 
ii.  397. 

fJebulse,  constitution  of,  i.  386  ;  distribu- 
tion of,  L  388 ;  analogy  with  comets, 
L389. 

Nebular  hyiJothesis,  i.  248,  356—397. 

Necessary  truths,  i.  24,  47,  62 — 60. 

Negative  evidence,  i.  56. 

Neptune,  discovery  of,  i.  35  ;  ii.  106  ;  his 
retrograde  rotation,  i.  356,  365 ;  forma- 
tion of,  i.  362. 

Nerve-tissue,  establishment  of  transit- 
lines  in,  ii.  145. 

Nervous  arc,  ii.  151. 

Nervous  systems,  genesis  of,  146, 

Newman,  J.  H.,  quoted,  ii.  500, 

Newton's  theory  of  matter,  i.  4 ;  theory 
of  gravitation,  i.  12,  111,  113;  theory 
of  light,  i.  130 ;  his  remark  about 
metaphysics,  i.  177 ;  his  law  of  the 
velocity  of  sound ,  i.  205  ;  his  discoveries 
Uiustrate  the  helplessness  of  simple  in- 
duction, i.  266  ;  ii.  192 ;  his  hypothesis 
of  gravitation  inconceivable  if  meta- 
physically interpreted,  i.  272  ;  great- 
ness of  his  achievements,  i.  326. 

Nitrogen  as  a  constituent  of  organic 
matter,  i.  333. 

Nuance,  sense  of,  i.  29. 

Nutritive  and  relational  systems  of  organs, 
it  86. 


Objective  and  subjective    elements   in 

cognition,  how  far  separable,  i.  50. 
Objective  method  defined,  i.  109. 
Observation,  i.  241. 
Occasional  causes,  i.  24,  158. 
Occult  substrata  demoUshed  by  Berkeley 

and  Hume,  i.  SB. 
Occulta  vis  in  causation,  i.  154. 
Olfactory  sensations,   how  compounded, 

ii.  128. 
Omne  vivum  ex  vivo,  i.  419. 
Organic  matter,  direction  of  motion  in,  ii. 

144. 
Oriental  type  of  civilization,  how  it  has 

originated,  ii.  268. 
Origin,  proximate  and  ultimate,  L  248, 

250. 
Omithodelphia,  ii.  50. 
Ovum  of  mammals,  i.  340. 
Owen,  Kichard,  on  final  causes,  U.  384. 


Pain,  beneficence  of,  ii.  157. 
Pains  and  pleasures,  ii.  327. 
Pangenesis,  ii.  45. 


Pan-FeTIenism,  ii.  205. 

Panspermatism,  i.  420. 

Pantheism,  i.  7  ;  ii.  423. 

Paracelsus,  i.  419. 

Paraguay  Indians  and  Jesuits,  ii.  304. 

Parental  feeling  correlated  with  duration 
of  infancy,  ii.  343. 

Parkman,  F.,  ii.  247. 

Parmenides  of  Plato,  i.  23. 

Patois,  their  tendency  to  disappear,  ii.  34. 

Patria  Potestas,  ii.  220. 

Patriotism,  ii.  205. 

Pux  Romana,  ii.  206. 

Pedigree  of  a  hypothesis  as  a  test  of  ita 
value,  i.  438. 

Pen  a.r\  A  feather,  i.  446. 

Pendulum,  rhythm  of,  i.  299;  Borda'a 
experiment  with,  i.  237. 

Perception  implies  recognition,  ii.  107; 
simple  and  complex,  ii.  112  ;  how  dif- 
ferent from  sensation,  ii.  113 ;  rise  of, 
iL156. 

Persistence  of  Force,  i.  40,  283. 

Personality  incompatible  with  infinity, 
ii.  408. 

Phenomena,  definition  of,  i.  20. 

Philip  II.,  ii.  494;  why  a  fit  subject  for 
m.oral  disapprobation,  ii.  183. 

Philosophy  distinguished  from  science, 
i.  39—44. 

Phosphorus  and  thought,  ii.  436. 

Phrenology,  ii.  74,  135. 

Physics,  when  constituted  as  a  science, 
i.  199,  202  ;  how  divided,  i.  203  ;  the 
science  of  experiment,  i.  243 ;  ancient 
and  modem  meaning  of  the  word,  i. 
279. 

Physiolooncal  units,  ii.  45. 

Physiology,  wherein  difierent  from  psy- 
chology, ii.  76. 

Planaria,  its  eye-spot,  ii.  90. 

Planes  of  revolution  of  asteroids  not  yet 
accounted  for,  i.  372. 

Planetary  motions,  i.  12  ;  ancient  theory 
of,  i.  107  ;  supposed  to  bo  controlled 
by  archangels,  i.  110,  197  ;  great  com- 
plexity of,  i.  295;  rhythm  of,  303; 
gradual  retardation  of,  i.  394. 

Planets,  sizes  of,  i.  366  ;  physical  condi- 
tion of,  i.  376  ;  their  ultimate  fate,  i 
395. 

Plants,  their  growth  dependent  on  solai 
energy,  i.  408. 

Plateau's  experiment  in  illustration  of  the 
nebular  hypothesis,  i.  363. 

Plato,  i.  23, "99,  102 ;  his  theory  of  remi- 
niscence,i.  100  :  compared  with  Comte, 
i.  103, 139  ;  on  tinal  causes,  ii.  405. 

Pleasures  and  pains,  ii.  327;  whynosJ«uji 


620 


INDEX. 


actions  are  sometimes  j^ileasurable,  ii. 
333. 

Polarity,  i.  290;  physiological,  ii.  57. 

Political  economy,  a  deductive  scienco, 
i   113. 

Polytheism,  i.  168. 

Positive  Polity,  utter  failure  of,  ii.  489 ; 
its  retrograde  character,  ii.  494. 

Positivism,  its  relations  with  idealism, 
i.  74 — 83;  an  impracticable  philo-ophy, 
i.  176 ;  current  disposition  to  identify 
all  scientific  philosophy  v^ith  it,  i.  255  ; 
five  fundamental  propositions  of,  i. 
257  ;  antagonistic  to  Cosmism,  i.  93,9^ 
145, 175,  184,  263. 

Post  hoc  ergo  propter  hoc,  i.  150. 

Power,  oar  notion  of,  whence  derived, 
i.  156. 

Prayer  cannot  ward  off  the  effects  of 
wrong-doing,  ii.  464. 

Precession,  i.  303. 

Prediction  in  science,  i.  33. 

Pre-established  Harmony,  i.  24, 129,  158. 

Preformation,  theory  of,  i.  456. 

Prehension  and  intelligence,  ii.  309. 

Prevision,  quantitative  and  qualitative, 
i.  33  ;  in  sociology,  ii.  169. 

Primitive  men,  their  unprogressiveness, 
n.  291. 

Primitive  religion,  ii.  458. 

Primitive  state  of  high  civilization, 
theory  of,  ii.  264. 

Proctor,  R.,  i.  374,  378,  380. 

Progress,  habitually  misunderstood,  ii. 
193  ;  not  universal,  ii.  195,  255  ;  yet 
still  the  prime  phenomenon  to  be  in- 
vestigated, ii.  196  ;  factors  of,  ii.  197  ; 
its  fundamental  characteristic,  ii.  201 ; 
its  root  in  the  exercise  of  the  conjugal 
and  parental  feelings,  ii.  203  ;  deter- 
mined by  increasing  heterogeneity  of 
environment,  ii.  213  ;  why  more  npid  in 
modem  than  in  ancient  times,  ii.  214; 
law  of,  ii.  223  ;  Comte's  theory  of,  ii. 
240 ;  moral  and  intellectual  elements 
in,  ii.  241  ;  why  some  people  do  not 
advance,  ii.  256 — 283  ;  inconspicuous  in 
lower  races  of  men,  ii.  289. 

Proklos,  his  divine  Ught,  i.  23, 125. 

Protective  spirit,  ii.  231, 

Protists,  Haeckel's  Kingdom  of,  i.  450. 

Providence,  mediaeval  notion  of,  ii.  381. 

Psychical  phenomena  can  never  be  re- 
solved into  motions  of  matter,  ii.  442. 

Psychical  states  built  up  out  of  sub- 
psychical  states,  ii.  123 ;  cohere  less 
strongly  as  they  increase  in  com- 
plexity, ii.  153. 

Psychogeny, L  22L 


Psychology;  rejected  by  Comte,  \.  104  ; 
twofold  division  of,  i.  221 ;  wherein 
different  from  biology,  ii.  76  ;  problem 
of,  ii.  78 ;  its  claims  to  rank  as  a  pri- 
mary science,  ii.  80 ;  its  dependence  on 
biology,  ii.  82. 

Pterodactyl  and  birds,  ii.  51 — 53. 

Punic  wars  compared  with  the  war  \A 
secession,  :i.  249. 

Pyrrhonism,  i.  23. 


Rainbows,  why  explained  before  cometr 

i.  210. 
Realism ,  i.  67. 
Reason,  how   evolved  from   instinct,  i_ 

154. 
Reasoning  involves  classification,  i.  31  . 

ii.    106  ;  quantitative  and  qualitativo. 

ii.  102. 
Reconciliation  between  Kant  and  Hume. 

i.  72,149  ;  ii.  160. 
Redi,  his  panegyric  on  wine,  i.  412  ;  hi' 

experiments  on  decaying  meat,  i.  419, 
Reflex  action,  ii.  149. 
Reid,  i.  77—79. 
Relational    and    nutritive    systems    o 

organs,  ii.  86. 
Relations,  equality  of,  ii.  100  ;  of  animai- 

in  time,  i  452. 
Relative  truth,  criterion  of,  i.  71. 
Relativity,  canon  of,  i.  10 ;  full  meaning; 

of  the  doctrine,  i.  91. 
Religion  not  antagonistic  to  science,  i 

184;   its  relations  to  morality,  ii.  S.*)?, 

465  ;    of  Humanity,  how  reached  b^i 

Comte,  i.  261  ;  ii.  417. 
Religions  of  antiquity,  their  function,  ii 

266. 
Repentance  cannot  ward  off  punishment, 

ii.  455. 
Representativeness,  its  importance  as  an 

intellectual  faculty,  ii.  512. 
Retina,  structure  of,  ii.  62. 
Reversion  of  domesticated    animals  to- 
ward wild  type,  ii.  13. 
Revolution  of  1789,  ii.  480. 
Rhythm  of  motion,  i.  2,37—313. 
Right  and   wrong,  how   different    from 

pleasure  and  pain,  ii.  337. 
Ring    of    the    asteroids   perturbed    bj 

Jupiter,  i.  370. 
Rings  deta.ched  from  solar  nebula,  i.  361 

hoop -shaped     and    quoit  -  shaped, ,  L 

365. 
Robespierre,  ii.  482,  485. 
Roman  church,  grandeur  of  its  work,  il 

21d. 


INDEX. 


621 


tlome,  si^ificance  of  its  rule,   ii.   206, 

215,  218. 

Elotifera  as  illustrating  dependence  of 
vitality  on  moisture ,  i.  334. 

Rousseati,  J.  J.,  his  theory  of  a  primitive 
contract,  ii.  221 ;  his  anarchical  doc- 
trines, ii.  479- 

Rudimentary  organs,  i.  455. 


Saemann's  theory  of  the  disappearance 
of  the  lunar  air  and  water,  i.  381. 

Sahara,  effects  of  its  submergence,  404. 

Saint-Simon,  wherein  different  from 
Comte,  i.  260. 

Sainte-Beuve,  L  29. 

Sanctions  for  morality  furnished  by 
religious  systems,  ii.  454. 

Santals,  religion  of,  ii.  458. 

Satanic  presence  in  nature,  ii.  458. 

Satellites,  distribution  of,  i.  374. 

Saturation  and  substitution,  i.  225. 

Saturn,  eclipses  caused  by  his  rings,  L 
375 ;  why  he  has  rings,  i.  376 ;  his 
physical  condition,  i.  378. 

Savages,  their  want  of  foresight,  ii.  247, 
303 ;  moral  condition  of,  ii.  350. 

Scales  and  lever,  i.  36. 

Scepticism,  i.  45,  86 ;  its  function,  ii. 
229  411. 

Schelling,  i.  48,  52,  77,  99  ;  his  theory  of 
"intellectual  intxiition,"  i.  124. 

Scherer,  E.,  ii.  383. 

Schlegel,  A.  W.,  his  hypothesis  of  word- 
budding,  i.  66. 

Scholastic  philosophy,  its  great  value, 
L  123. 

Schopenhauer,  A.,  on  Hegel,  i.  124. 

Science  and  common  knowledge,  i.  27 — 
38  ;  ii.  297  ;  enormous  progress  of  since 
1830,  i.  229,  251 ;  originated  in  myth- 
ology, i.  177. 

Sciences,  Comte's  classification  of,  i.  189 
— 215 ;  cannot  be  arranged  in  a  linear 
series,  i.  208  ;  conditions  which  deter- 
mine their  relative  progress,  i.  209 — 
212 ;  Mr.  Spencer's  triple  division  of,  L 
215  ;  tabular  view  of,  i.  219  ;  device 
for  representing  their  relative  rates  of 
progress,  i.  223. 

Secession,  war  of,  compared  with  Punio 
wars,  ii.  249. 

Segregation  as  a  consequence  of  the  per- 
sistence of  force,  i.  855. 

Selection,  ii.  9. 

Self-creation,  i.  7. 

Self-existence,  i.  7. 

Self-regarding  virtues;  11.  367. 

Sensation,  how  different  from  perceptioD, 
VOL.  IL 


ii.  113 ;  peripherally  or  cei  trally  inL 
tiated,  ii.  116  ;   relativity  of,  i.  17,  18. 

Sensations  and  ideas,  ii.  111. 

Sense-organs  differentiated  from  dermal 
structures,  ii.  89. 

Sequences  which  are  not  causal,  i.  161. 

Servetus,  i.  65. 

Sexual  selection,  ii.  27. 

Shaler,  N.  S.,  his  theory  of  the  rattle- 
snake's rattle,  ii.  28. 

Shark,  brain  of,  iL  133. 

Shells  in  England  and  the  Mediterranean, 
ii.  55. 

Siberian  fungus,  its  psychical  effects,  L 
414. 

Siberian  mammoths,  i.  321. 

Sidereal  astronomy,  why  condenmed  by 
Comte,  i.  260. 

Silurian  rocks  not  strictly  palaeozoic,  ii.  38. 

Similarity  and  dissimilaniy,  ii.  118. 

Sin,  divine  judgment  on,  i.  199 ;  scien- 
tific doctrine  of,  ii.  455 ;  anthropo- 
morphic doctrine  of,  as  yet  the  most 
useful,  ii.  470. 

Sizes  of  planets,  i.  366. 

Sleep,  physiological  explanation  of,  i.  306. 

Smith,  Adam,  i.  113 ;  his  remark  about  a 
god  of  Weight,  i.  195  ;  his  principle  of 
division  of  labour,  L  207. 

Smith,  Gold  win,  on  the  science  of  history, 
ii.  172. 

Social  environment,  ii.  197 ;  rapid  change 
of,  in  recent  times,  ii.  335. 

Social  evolution,  definition  of,  ii.  223 ; 
closely  akin  to  organic  evolution,  ii. 
225  ;  prerequisites  to  the  discovery  ot 
the  law  of,  ii.  233  ;  opens  a  new  chapter 
in  the  history  of  the  world,  ii.  293; 
connected  with  representativeness,  ii. 
315 ;  origin  of,  ii.  340—363. 

Sociality  and  gregariousness,  ii.  341. 

Society,  morphological  development  of, 
ii.  215, 

Sociogeny,  i.  222. 

Sociology  a  concrete  science,  i.  213  ;  pre- 
vision in,  ii.  169  ;  great  difficulty  of 
the  study,  ii.  191 ;  position  of  the 
science,  ii.  198. 

Solar  energy,  how  transformed  on  the 
earth,  i.  407. 

Solar  nebula,  its  primitive  rotation,  L 
360  ;   its  original  shape,  i,  361,  389. 

Solar  ray,  composition  of,  i.  19. 

Solar  spots,  scouted  at  by  Aristotelians, 
i.  110. 

Solidity  of  matter,  i.  3,  373. 

Sounds,  constitution  of,  ii.  123. 

Spallanzani  and  the  germ-theory,  i.  420. 

Special-creation  hypothesis^  i.  440. 
M  M 


INDEX. 


SpeciaTists,  narrowness  of,  i,  241. 

Specios,  bifurcation  of,  ii.  18. 

Spectrum-analysis,  i.  202,  207,  249 ;  its 
latest  indications,  i.  388 ;  enables  us  to 
measure  the  direct  approach  or  reces- 
sion of  a  star,  i.  487. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  his  greatness  as  a  psy- 
chologist, i.  163  ;  his  refutation  of  the 
theory  of  the  "  Three  Stages,"  i.  173  ; 
Iiis  refutation  of  the  Comtean  classifica- 
tion, i.  204  ;  his  distinction  between 
abstractness  and  generality,  i,  214 ; 
his  triple  division  of  sciences,  i.  216  ; 
his  opinion  of  Comte's  speculations,  i. 
227  ;  comparison  of  his  achievements 
with  Newton's,  i.  326,  351 ;  his  ex- 
planation of  the  retrograde  rotation  of 
Uranus,  i.  365  ;  his  hypothesis  regard- 
ing the  asteroids,  i.  370 ;  his  theory  of 
the  distribution  of  nebulae,  i.  388  ;  on 
the  functions  of  cerebrum  and  cere- 
bellum, ii.  138;  on  the  genesis  of 
nervous  systems,  ii.  146  ;  "  Ideas  do 
not  govern  the  world,"  ii.  242  ;  emen- 
dation of  his  phrase  "  nervous  shock," 
ii.  444  ;  his  refutation  of  materialism, 
iL  446 ;  description  of  the  state  of 
Booiety  toward  which  we  are  progress- 
ing, ii.  495. 

Bpinoza,  i.  24;  erroneousness  of  his 
method,  L  116;  proiluced  a  crisis  in 
philosophy,  i.  117  ;  on  the  personality 
of  God,  ii.  409. 

Spirit,  ii.  395,  449. 

Spirits  in  pharmacy,  i.  197. 

"  Spiritualism,"  superstition  of,  ii.  379. 

Spontaneous  generation,  i.  12J,  243. 

Stahl,  i.  127,  419. 

Statical  and  dynamical  habits  of  thought, 
ii.  371,  473. 

Status  and  contract,  ii.  221. 

Stimulus,  metaphysical  doctrine  of,  L 
197  ;  dynamically  defined,  i.  412. 

Stewart,  Balfour,  i.  31 : 5. 

Struggle  for  life,  ii.  12. 

Struthious  birds,  ii.  67. 

Subjective  method  defined,  i.  98. 

Subsidence  and  elevation,  ii.  39. 

Sun,  source  of  his  heat,  i.  359  ;  must  ulti- 
mately become  cold,  i.  3^2. 

Sun-spots  and  rain-fall,  i.  4o6. 

Sympa^hctic  nerve,  its  action  on  the 
bloodvessels,  i.  306. 

Sympathy,  iL  352. 

Tactile  sensations,  how  compounded,  ii. 

129. 
Tactual  sense,  in  man  and  lobster,  i.  17. 


Taine,  H.  A,,ii.  123. 

Tear  and  lai-me,  i.  446. 

Teleological  hypothesis,  its  logical  weak- 
ness, ii.  385;  overthrown  by  the  dis« 
covery  of  natural  selection,  ii.  897  { 
origin  of,  ii.  399. 

Tennyson,  ii.  85,  462. 

Theism,  i.  7  ;  does  not  necessarily  imply 
personality  of  God,  ii.  424. 

''  Theological,"  sometimes  \mfortunateIy 
used  by  Comte,  i.  196. 

Thermodynamics,  i.  34. 

Thought  and  phosphorus,  ii.  436 ;  wherein 
dependent  on  solar  radiations,  i,  413. 

Throe  stages,  Comte's  theory  of,  L  168 ; 
ii.  238,  '245,  478. 

Tides,  rhythm  of,  i,  305  ;  checking  plar 
netaiy  rotation,  i.  359,  393. 

Timaios  of  Plato,  i.  102. 

Timbre ,  or  quaUty  of  sound,  source  of,  ii. 
125. 

Torricelli's  discovery  of  atmospheric  pres- 
sure, i.  209. 

Toxodon,  ii.  41. 

Transit-luies  in  brain,  ii.  139. 

Transitional  forms,  alleged  paucity  of,  iL 
33. 

Transubstantiatiou  and  transaccidenta- 
tion,  i.  123. 

Trees  iu  Europe  and  America,  ii.  65. 

Truth,  test  of,  i.  11,  45—71,  286 ;  u.  162; 
definition  of,  i.  45 ;  ii.  246  ;  does  not 
apply  where  experience  is  transcended, 
L  11 ;  u.  391. 


Undulation,  how  necessitated,  i.  800. 

Undulatory  theory  of  light,  i.  300. 

Uuerabodied  spirit,  ii.  395. 

Uniformity  of  belief  and  practice,  ita 
dangers,  ii.  273. 

Unit  of  mind,  ii.  131. 

Universal  proposition  inferred  from  single 
instance,  i.  55. 

Cniveise,  origin  of,  i.  6 ;  how  far  un- 
knowable, i.  15 ;  ii.  413. 

Unknowable,  doctrine  of,  rejected  by 
Positivism,  i  82.  169,  262 ;  misunder- 
standings  to  which  the  term  has  given 
rise,  ii.  469. 

Uranus,  his  retrograde  rotation,  L  356^ 
365. 

Use  and  disuse,  ii.  17. 


Verification,  i.  108,  127. 
Vibration  of  particles,  i.  20,  47» 
VibrisssB,  ii,  90. 
Vico's  theory  of  cycles,  L  SlOl 


INDEX. 


6tt 


Molina,  why  they  beoome  mellow  with 

age,  ii.  143. 
Virgil  and  spontaneous   generation*  i. 

418. 

Virtual  velocities,  L  36,  40. 

Visual  perception  not  originally  cog- 
nizant of  distance,  ii.  108. 

Visual  sensations,  how  compounded,  ii. 
127. 

Vision  -and  touch,  ii.  90 ;  range  of,  in 
savages  and  civilized  men,  ii.  299. 

Vital  Principle,  i.  127, 197,  422. 

Volition,  rise  of,  ii.  156  ;  definition  of,  ii. 
177  ;  theory  of  the  lawlessness  of,  i. 
193  ;  ii.  180. 

Voltaire's  Microm^fras,  i.  81. 

Von  Baer,  i.  40,  208,  342. 


Waoner,  Moritz,  his  testimony  in  favour 
of  the  derivation  theory,  i.  463. 

Wallace,  A.  R. ,  on  natural  selection,  ii. 
6  ;  his  brilliant  theory  of  the  action  of 
natural  selection  on  man,  ii.  318  ;  his 
experience  with  aa  infant  orang-outang, 

ti.S4ak 


Warfare,  its  tendency  to  disappear,  iL 

247. 
Waste  and  repair  in  brain,  iL  140. 
Water  unchanged  in  its  passage  tbronglt 

the  animal  organism,  i.  410. 
Whales  and  ichthyosaurians,  iL  63. 
Whately,  R.,  ii.  193. 
Whewell,  W.,  on  final  causes,  ii.  384. 
Will,  freedom  of,  i.  54,  198;  iL  173. 
Winslow,  Forbes,  ii.  20. 
Witchcraft,  belief  in,  ii.  379. 
Wollastou  obtained  crystals  of  quartz,  L 

242. 
Worship,  its  object  not  the  known  oat 

the  unknown,  ii.  420. 
Wright,  Chauncey,  i.  105. 
Wrought-iron    rendered    crystaUino    bj 

vibration,  i.  830. 
Wyroubofi'  on  the  scope  of  geologTi  i 

200. 


YOUNQ,  Thomaa,  L  130. 

Zoo&rOQT,  as  related  to  biology,  L  ZF2. 


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